The Season of the Witch
by Bogart and Bacall
Summary: A terrible act of brutality leaves Claire devastated, and Jack reaches out to an old friend of hers for help. Sequel to Crimson and Clover.
1. Chapter 1

THE SEASON OF THE WITCH

A/N: A terrible act of brutality leaves Claire devastated, and Jack reaches out to an old friend of hers for help. An exploration of friendship and strength, with an OFC I created for another story. I'm going through a dark period, and it's the love and support of my friends who make it bearable. This is for them, especially the three known as the daughters of my heart: Megan, Sarah B, and Bia. Written by "Bacall".

It was nearly six o'clock. Winter darkness cloaked the city, and the muted lighting in Jack's office cast a warm, insulating glow. Claire sat with him, going over witness statements; their shoeless feet played under the table. Then the private entry door opened. They looked up, retracting their feet at the same time, and waited for Adam to speak.

He held a yellow Post-it. He cleared his throat as he leaned against Jack's desk, watching the covert lovers pretend they weren't playing footsie under the table. Certain he had their attention, he said "I have news."

Jack sat up straight and turned on his chair, facing Adam. "What."

"Marc Meadows's conviction was overturned on appeal. He's in the city, free as a bird."

"Shit." Jack tossed his pen on the table. "Grounds?"

Adam sighed. "Point at the two-seven. Again. The court held they entered his apartment without probable cause, you know the drill." He crumpled the Post-it, then focused on young Ms. Kincaid. "He's not happy with you. He made some noise in Rikers about catching up with you."

Claire shrugged. "He's blowing smoke." She remembered the diminutive man with the greasy blonde hair and sparse mustache. "The last thing he wants is a collar for intimidating an ADA."

Adam frowned. "I'm glad you're so confident." He looked at Jack. "You remember him?"

"I do. That little squirt wouldn't mess with Claire."

Adam's shrugged. "The confidence of youth. It makes me feel old."

"C'mon, Adam," she protested.

"You've been notified," he said, and he leveled a look at Jack that would have withered a lesser man. "My work here is done." He went back to his office.

Claire looked at Jack. "Should I be worried?"

"No. Marc Meadows is a coward."

"Still." She considered Adam's warning.

"He doesn't know where we live, Claire. Our phone numbers aren't listed. He's a gasbag."

"A rapist gasbag."

Jack tried to mollify her vague concern. He took her hand and lightly kissed it. "I'll stay with you until we retry the little bastard and send him back to Rikers. He's all talk and no balls. OK?"

Claire looked at her watch. "Sure. Can we bag it for the night?"

"Yeah." Jack closed the file. He stacked it with the other files and locked them away. Claire put on her shoes and walked to the window, looking into the darkness. Jack came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "What are you looking for?"

She turned her head and smiled. "I don't know."

She put on her coat while Jack slipped into his loafers and coat. They'd driven to work in her car. As she fished her keys out of her purse, she said "You really don't mind staying with me?"

"Nope." His hand touched the small of her back and he guided her into the hallway, flipping the light switch as they passed it. "Though it concedes home field advantage to you."

Claire absently stated the obvious. "I'm parked in the garage."

"I know." Jack's smile was patient.

They rode the elevator down, found the car, and as Claire pulled out of the garage exit, she glanced around. She drove home, found a parking spot, and walked with Jack into her building.

She locked the dead bolts, giving Jack a sheepish grin. "So I feel a little insecure at the moment."

He smiled, shedding his coat. "It's OK, this is New York City, security is mandatory. You'll get used to bad guys being freed and blowing smoke." He took her coat from her and hung it. "Order in?"

She shrugged. "I guess, I think all I have in the refrigerator is beer." She took off her suit jacket. "I'm going to change, you order. Surprise me," she said, anticipating his question. She walked into her bedroom, turning on the lamp by her bed. She pulled the blinds before she undressed. She hung her clothes, and pulled on cotton drawstring pants and an old tee shirt a friend gave her, emblazoned with "Captain, Smith Sleeping Team." She always thought of Annie when she wore it.

Jack kept clothes here, and he came in to change as she brushed her hair. He draped his suit over a chair and pulled on sweats. He unobtrusively watched her. The threat wasn't serious, as threats went, but it didn't take much to unnerve Claire. He hugged her. "I won't let anything happen to you," he said.

"I know." She pulled away and smiled. "What's for dinner?"

"It's a surprise."

She laughed. "You picked dinner, I get the movie."

"Fair enough." He left her in the bedroom, and she heard the sound of drinks being prepped. She joined him in the living room, on the couch, and took her scotch over ice. She dug the remote out from between the cushions and tuned the TV to Turner Classic Movies. They were quiet, Jack allowing her to process this part of the job, the oddball harmless threat. Dinner arrived, and they ate in front of the TV, watching Bogart in _High Sierra._ Jack washed the dishes. He'd seen Bogart die before, he hated the ending of this movie.

They went to bed when the movie was over, and Claire snuggled against him. He put his arm around her, waiting to see if she wanted more. She didn't. It was fine with him, he was tired. He checked the alarm clock, then settled down.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The alarm woke them at six. They showered, then dressed for work. They'd stop for coffee on the way. The office was stirring when they arrived, and Jack unlocked the file cabinet, retrieving the case files from yesterday. It was a normal morning, too much work and not enough time.

Adam came in just before lunch. He dropped a folder in front of Jack. "You need to go to Sing-Sing."

"Adam," he protested, "that'll take all day."

"So it will. I'm sure Ms. Kincaid can handle the load here. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back."

Jack leaned back and looked at Claire. "I'll try to be back for dinner," he said.

She nodded, there wasn't much to be said in the face of Adam's orders. She could handle the work load. Jack got ready to go, called motor pool for a car, and then bent to kiss Claire. She looked up.

"I should be back no later than seven, depending on how big this clusterfuck is."

"I'll be fine, I can handle Garnett. Go, before Adam starts yelling."

He looked at her before he walked into the hall. She was bent over a proposed plea, twirling a strand of hair, as she did when deep in thought. He didn't want to leave, but he knew she could handle a few plea bargains. He glanced through the file on his ride down the elevator. They had an inmate who wanted to flip on a major player in the Russian mob. That made haste a necessity, informers on the Russians had a short life expectancy. He'd make a quick deal, have the man transferred into protective custody, and get back to the city, stopping for a pizza on his way to Claire's apartment.

Claire left at six. She went straight home, taking a raincheck on drinks with the ADAs from SVU and Narcotics. She flipped the master switch and lamps obeyed. She tossed her keys on the table, hung her coat and stashed her briefcase, then went into her room to change into her usual "done for the day" attire, cotton pants and a tee shirt.

The apartment felt empty without Jack, she was getting too used to his presence. She checked her watch, feeling ridiculous. If she didn't cool it, she'd be buying _Bride Magazine._ She had to pee, so she got up to take care of business.

When she opened the bathroom door, a hand covered her mouth and jerked her head viciously to one side. She felt cold steel at her neck.

"One sound," the man whispered, "one sound and I slice your pretty neck." He dragged her into the bedroom and pushed her on the bed. _Jack,_ she silently called,_ where are you?_ On her back, straddled by Marc Meadows, she stared in abject fear as he grinned. He pressed the blade against her neck again, then turned the knife , and, with one swift stroke, slit her clothes from neckline to groin. Using one hand, he unbuckled his belt. She knew what was coming, hoped to survive it, prayed Jack came in.

It was as horrible as she expected it to be. He was brutal. She was so paralyzed by fear she didn't fight back, which excited him more. He pounded her mercilessly, and when he'd finished, he pulled back to his knees, grinning. And then he beat the crap out of her, concentrating on her face. He dragged his blade across her neck, making a shallow cut, before bounding off the bed. He fastened his pants and then went out the window he'd entered through.

Claire was still, tears running down her cheeks, feeling sick but afraid to move. She felt blood running down her neck, knew she should pick up the phone, but she could not move. And then she heard the front door open. She heard her name, Jack's voice, but she couldn't make a sound. She heard his footsteps, turned her head enough to see him in the doorway, and saw the horror on his face.

"Claire." He was beside her in an instant, reaching for the phone. She heard him call 911, heard him tell the dispatcher it was an ADA, heard the words _It's going to be all right_. He was wrong. It would not be all right. He held her shoulder, but he made no effort to touch her further. Evidence preservation, her brain said, as she detached from reality. She felt like she floated above it all, observing from a distance. The police came in, followed by paramedics, radios buzzed and crackled. Jack stepped away as the medics tended to her neck, prepped her hands and groin for further examination at the hospital, and put her on a gurney, covered by a plastic sheet and a blanket. And then she passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

She woke up in the ER. The rape kit was in progress, and she looked for Jack. He saw her eyes move and he stepped forward, putting his hand on her head. She touched her bandaged neck, and a few tears trickled from her swollen, blackened eyes. Jack gently wiped them away. The doctor finished with the kit and sealed it, then stood by Claire's head.

"Kim Ralston," she said. "The SVU detectives are outside, they need this kit. Can you sign the release?" Claire nodded. "And they want to talk to you."

Claire nodded again, and she looked up at Jack. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked every minute of his fifty years. The curtains rustled, and she saw a woman she recognized. Benson, the detached part of mind said, from SVU. She was dressed in jeans and a brown leather jacket, her badge visible on her belt.

"Ms. Kincaid, I'm Olivia Benson. Are you up to answering some questions?"

Claire nodded, taking Jack's hand.

"Do you know who did this?"

Claire nodded. "Marc Meadows," she whispered, barely audible.

"The doctor said the wound to your neck was superficial, you should be able to speak soon." Olivia's compassion touched Claire, and she turned her head, not wanting anyone to see her cry. "Do you know how he got into your apartment?"

"Window," Claire whispered. "I thought I locked it."

Olivia looked at Jack, well aware of who he was. Her expression told him she already knew the answers to most of these questions. He was stone-faced, listening. Olivia sighed. "He broke the window." She looked at Jack again. "I have to ask. I'm so sorry."

"She's sedated," Jack said, adjusting Claire's blanket. "This isn't necessary. You know who did it. Go get the little bastard and call me."

"We still need a statement from her, Mr. McCoy." Olivia's voice was calm and soothing, yet Jack bristled. Olivia took a small notepad and a pen from her jacket's inner pocket and clicked the pen's tip. "Can you tell me about it?"

Claire turned her head and met Olivia's compassionate gaze. "I was waiting for Jack to get home. I went to the bathroom. When I came out, Meadows was there. He raped and beat me, cut my neck." She felt completely detached from the actual events, as if they happened to someone else.

"You have your statement, Detective," Jack said. "Go find the bastard, and when you have him, I want to see him."

Olivia closed her notepad and put it back in her pocket. "We're working on it, sir. Ms. Kincaid, again, I'm so sorry. Call if you need anything." She gave her card to Jack, and then walked out of the ER room. Jack looked down at Claire.

She stared at the ceiling, her eyes blank, lifeless. He squeezed her hand, and her eyes shifted to meet his. "I'm taking you home with me," he whispered. She stared at him. "I'm going to get clothes for you," he said. "I'll be right back."

Claire stared up. Jack gently pulled his hand from hers and walked to the nurses' station. "I need the clothing for rape victims. Now." He drew on every ounce of control he had not to snap at the nurse, who moved too slowly for his taste. She went to a storage closet and came back with plastic-bagged sweats. Jack checked the size and frowned. "She needs a small," he said, putting the oversized packages on the desk. The nurse took them back to the closet and returned with a smaller set of gray sweats. Jack took them to Claire.

She still stared at the ceiling. He gently helped her sit, pulled her gown off, and helped her dress. He ripped the plastic packaging on the socks, got them on her feet, and realized Claire was shoeless. So he would carry her, he thought, he would do whatever it took. A nurse came in with Claire's discharge papers and a wheelchair, and Jack lifted her into the chair before signing for her as the responsible party.

He'd called Adam from the ER, and a car and driver waited for them. The driver opened the back door and reached for Claire's hand. She jerked away, and Jack wanted to yell at him, then realized he was being thoughtful. Ignorant but thoughtful. He helped Claire out of the chair and into the car, then slid in after her, holding her. She flinched at his touch. The driver got in and turned his head, looking at Jack.

"Mr. Schiff wanted me to call him when we left the hospital, he wants to meet you at your apartment, if that's OK."

Jack looked at Claire. Her thousand yard stare was still present. "Yeah, OK, just get us home."

Jack raged silently as the driver worked his way through traffic to Jack's apartment building. He mentally castrated and tortured Marc Meadows repeatedly, each time more violently, until he felt Claire squeeze his arm. He looked down at her.

"Don't," she whispered.

The car pulled to the curb in front of his building, and he got out. He helped her out, then picked her up and carried her inside. Once on the thick carpet in the lobby, he put her down and supported her as they slowly walked to the elevators. Her stare continued, yet part of her was aware of him, connected to him, and he tried to control his thoughts for her sake. Once they were in his apartment, her legs gave way. He caught her and carried her to the couch. He went for a drink, getting a diet soda for her, and sat next to her. She jerked away. "Claire."

Her head turned, slowly. "Yes," she said, still in that hoarse whisper, as though she'd vocalized the screams in her head and destroyed her vocal chords.

"What can I do?"

"Nothing." She put her hand, with those long, tapered fingers, on his thigh.

"Adam will be here soon. Do you want to see him?"

She shrugged. The soda can moved mechanically to her lips and she sipped, wincing with the pain of swallowing. She put it aside. She stared at the door, her hand still resting on Jack's leg. In a few minutes, Adam knocked. Jack got up, looking back at Claire before he checked the peephole and opened it.

Adam stepped in, dressed in gray pants and an open-necked white shirt under a burgundy V-neck sweater. He approached Claire, but kept a respectful distance.

"Claire," he said, "I'm so sorry."

She looked up at him. "It's not your fault, Adam."

Adam looked at Jack when he heard her voice. "I thought the cut was superficial."

"It was." Jack shrugged. He'd seen Claire bleed like a stuck pig, though the wound itself wasn't life threatening, but he wasn't going to discuss that in front of her. "Sit down, Adam." Jack sat next to Claire, who stiffened for a moment before leaning against him. Jack met Adam's pained eyes. Adam nodded and Jack looked down. Claire's eyes were closed, she'd finally passed out from the meds given to her in the ER. Jack put his arm around her, cradling her against his chest, and looked at Adam. "I want to kill him."

"I know, son. How did this happen?"

"The fire escape," he said, quietly, he didn't want to wake her. "The little prick…" his voice trailed off. Claire's black and blue face, swollen and ugly, was almost more than he could bear. "Get on Cabot's ass, have her run the detectives ragged until they collar that bastard. And no way will I prosecute a brutality complaint."

"I've spoken to Alex and Cragen, this is their top priority. No one's going home until they find him."

"Alex and Claire's friendship won't stop me from reaming her if she screws this up."

"Easy, Jack." Adam sounded even more like an old man, a tired old man. "Alex is very good at her job."

"It's the detectives who need be good right now."

"You better get a grip on your anger. She has to feel you're in control, that she's safe."

"If I hadn't gone to Sing-Sing…"

"I know. I'm sorry. No one thought he was serious." He sighed. "Obviously, you're on leave until you feel you can come back to work. As long as she needs you." He stood. "Get some sleep, Jack. I'll see myself out. And two unis are outside the door."

Jack nodded. He watched Adam leave, unwilling to move, to disturb Claire, and he finished his drink. He sat, letting her sleep against him all night.

--xx—


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Benson and Stabler worked the phones, checking every CI and source they had. After a couple of frustrating hours Olivia said "Thanks," slammed the phone down, and stood. "C'mon. That was Sammy Lewis, the bartender at Eli's, on Houston. Meadows just wandered in."

Elliot was on his feet, grabbing his jacket. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I called Sammy on a whim, that place is such a dive, but it paid off." They walked out of the squad room. Elliot jangled the keys as they hurried down the stairs. Olivia wanted nothing more than to capture this creep, she didn't need Alex on her back. Olivia was well aware that the two ADAs were friends; Alex didn't need to call her every five minutes demanding an update and suggesting a hard take down when they found him. "You know," she said, as Elliot unlocked the car, "McCoy put the word out, no prosecution for complaints when we collar this asshole. Adam Schiff backs him." Disbelief tinged her tone.

Elliot grinned as he turned the key. "McCoy is my kind of guy."

"So I should expect him to vigorously resist?" Olivia looked at him, a little surprised at the idea of deliberately beating the shit out of a suspect.

"Seriously, yes. He raped an ADA. I'm surprised he didn't kill her, the dead suck as witnesses." He sped toward the little hole-in-the-wall bar.

"Just don't shoot him, Elliot," she said, drily. "Alex will have our asses if we don't let her fry him herself." She was on board with her partner, confident she could contain his more primitive instincts.

"Duly noted." He shot through a red light. "I want that little bastard."

Olivia glanced at him. "You know Kincaid?"

"Me? No. It's the idea that the little prick would make threats and have the balls to carry them out. On an ADA, no less." Tires squealed as he took a corner. They arrived at the dive and Elliot parked in the street. He and Olivia walked in, scanning the patrons. Marc Meadows sat at the bar, a beer in front of him. He didn't look up when the door opened, but then he sensed Elliot's threatening presence behind him.

He threw his beer in Elliot's face and dove off the barstool, running for the rear exit. Olivia was on him before he'd gone four steps, and Elliot jerked him away from her, slamming him to the floor. He smashed Meadows's head against the dirty floor, then jammed a knee in his back as he cuffed him. Yanking him to his feet, Elliot smiled at Meadows's bloody nose.

"Let's go, tough guy. You're in deep shit." He recited Miranda as he pushed Meadows out of the bar. On the street, he slammed him on the trunk and patted him down, squeezing hard as he checked his crotch. Meadows yelled, and Elliot said "Shut up, dickwad."

Olivia opened the back door and Elliot stuffed him into the backseat, letting his head hit the roof as he pushed him in. The detectives got in and drove back to the station, listening to the prisoner moan and curse, threaten lawsuits. Olivia finally looked over her shoulder. "Oh shut up. Do you really think the DA's office will prosecute any charge you bring? You raped an ADA, and not just any ADA, you brutalized the partner of the Executive ADA. Know what that means?" The answer was a groan. "It means you are royally, truly fucked. We can beat you senseless, and you were resisting arrest. We can crush your nuts with bolt cutters and you were resisting arrest. So I'd start praying, now, because my partner is supremely pissed. And the EADA wants a piece of you."

They frog-marched him into the station, and then into an interview room. Cragen waited in the observation area. Elliot slammed the man onto a chair. "You comfortable, dickhead?" Elliot rolled up his sleeves.

"My nose, man, you broke my nose."

"No, you did that, falling when you ran away from us." Elliot pulled a chair away from the table and sat, staring at the small man. "An ADA. What kind of drugs are you on?"

"I didn't rape nobody."

Olivia tapped the back of his head. "Liar. Or did you think you were raping a blind woman? "

"I don't know what you're talking about." The front of his shirt was soaked in his blood.

Elliot stood. "I have no patience with rapists. We have you dead to rights, no need for a confession. You left your DNA, she saw you plain as day, you really are dumb as a bag of shit."

"Bite me," Meadows spat blood in Elliot's direction.

Elliot moved so fast, the man's face hit the table so hard, that Olivia jumped. Cragen opened the door and said "Elliot. A minute, please."

"Sure, Captain." Elliot grinned and walked into the hallway, closing the door.

"That's enough, Detective. I know McCoy said he wouldn't prosecute a brutality complaint, but if a judge sees too much, it's out of his hands."

Elliot nodded and went back into the interview room. He glanced at Olivia, leaning against a wall, and resumed his seat. "How's the head, Marc? My partner can get you an aspirin if you need one."

"Fuck you, man. My lawyer's gonna have a field day."

"Nah, I doubt that. You're too stupid to stop resisting. Now, want to tell us about it? It's much easier to deal with ADA Cabot when you fess up. If she has to take you to trial, the gates of hell are going to open."

--xx—

Alex Cabot arrived at six a.m. She looked at the prisoner, still sitting in the interview room, waiting for his lawyer. "Jesus," she said, "who beat the hell out of him?"

"He resisted arrest at the bar," Olivia said. "He ran. When we tackled him, his face hit the floor. And then he fought us at the car."

Alex looked at Olivia. "I'll take your word for it. Tell his lawyer I said he really doesn't want this to go to trial." She turned and left the observation area. She picked up the preliminary report from Elliot on her way out. She would work on it at her office, and then go see Claire.

--xx—

Claire woke at four, panicked. Jack dozed, his arm still around her, but he jerked with her, fully alert. God, she looked terrible, and he wanted to do something, but he was helpless and he knew it. He tried to calm her, holding her against his chest and stroking her hair, as he once soothed his daughter's nightmares away. This, though, was a nightmare that wouldn't leave.

When Claire was aware of reality, that it wasn't some bad dream, her tears finally came. Jack kept stroking her head, her back, silently encouraging her to let it out. His shirt was soaked when she finally lifted her head and looked at him. "Why," she said, in a dead tone.

"Because there's real evil in this world, which we try to fight, and that puts us on the firing line. I'm so sorry, Claire, I should have been here to protect you."

She pulled away from him. "I need a shower." She stood, unsteadily, and he got to his feet, ready to catch her if her legs gave way. He walked with her into the bathroom, turned the shower on, and waited for her to tell him what she wanted. "I'm OK," she said. "I just need to be clean. Would you get my clothes?" He nodded and left the bathroom. She stripped off the hospital-issue sweats and got in the hot shower. She washed repeatedly, shampooed her hair twice, and then turned the water off. She stepped out of the stall and saw her own sweatpants and a white thermal undershirt folded on the toilet. She dried off and dressed, then walked into the living room. She smelled coffee and saw Jack in the kitchen, leaning against the counter.

He moved toward her as soon as he saw her, but she waved him away. The bruises on her face were dreadful, he thought, but nothing like the internal wounds, the wounds of the soul. When the coffee was ready, he brought her a mug.

"Thank you," she said, in a normal tone. She sipped it, tried to hide the pain of swallowing, then cradled the mug between her palms. "I must be a terrible person, because I want him dead."

"Nothing terrible about that. I do, too."

Her expression was anguished. "How can I feel this way when I oppose killing?" She looked away from Jack with a scary, bitter laugh. "I won't even kill spiders, yet I want this, this…" she trailed off.

Jack sat next to her and took her hand. It felt lifeless, and he gently rubbed it between his larger hands. "What you feel is natural. You've been violated, hurt, abused beyond description. And I failed you, which makes me want to grind him into dust. Look at me." She did, her brown eyes dulled with pain. "If you want me to kill him, say the word."

Her eyes widened as she heard what he said, understood what he meant. "My God, Jack," she whispered. "What is this doing to us?"

He kissed her forehead, and she leaned against him. "It makes us human. It's why we have the death penalty. Legislated revenge that keeps a lid on society."

"You'd really kill him if I asked you?"

He stared into her eyes. "Absolutely."

"No. No, you wouldn't. You aren't capable of that."

"And neither are you, but feeling it, wanting it, that's OK, Claire."

She raised the mug to her lips and sipped, then sank back on the couch, pulling Jack with her. The mug in her right hand rested on her stomach, she felt its heat but was untouched by it. She was angry, she was numb, she grieved something lost and feared something new within her. Then she felt that drifting sensation again. It was as if she stood apart, watching a man and woman sitting on a couch, trying to make sense of the senseless, actors in a play. The woman looked at the man and said "Get some coffee, its good." He got up and walked into the kitchen, a middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a wrinkled oxford shirt. When he came back, Claire read the pain in his eyes, the sense of failure, a frustration that was going to explode at some point.

"You know," he said, and took a delaying sip of coffee, "Cabot's going to want to talk to you."

"Alex," she said, dully, as if trying to place her. "My friend Alex. She and Margot are my only real friends here, oh, and Ruthie Miller."

"What am I?" he asked.

She looked at him, weighing the question, testing the emotions the question evoked. He failed to protect her, through no fault of his own, and he was trying now to make things better. She freed her left hand from his and reached up for his unshaven cheek, stroking it. "You're my lover, my friend. I'd be so lost without you." A tear ran out of the corner of her eye, and he caught it with his fingertip. "Please don't leave me."

"I won't. Adam has given me all the time off I need."

That wasn't exactly what she meant, but she found comfort in it nonetheless. She was afraid he'd be yanked away from her, much as her innocence regarding personal evil had been. The thought of Jack dying and leaving Claire to struggle through life frightened her. He sensed her fear and edged even closer, putting his arm around her. She stiffened, but forced herself not to push him away.

"What is it?" He kept her locked in his gaze.

"I'm afraid you'll die," she whispered. "And you can't promise you won't."

He sighed. "No, I can't promise I won't, but I can promise to be careful. I will not leave you, Claire."

"So many have left me," she said, breaking the hold his dark brown eyes had on her. "My father. My best friend in college…" Talking took too much effort, and she retreated into silence. Silence and black coffee. Her vacant eyes scared him. He didn't know how to reach her, so he followed her lead, sitting silently with her.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Alex Cabot called early and arranged to be at Jack's at eight-thirty. Marc Meadows was locked up, she said. He'd resisted arrest and Elliot used appropriate force to restrain him. "Expect a complaint," she said.

"Adam will handle it. Listen." He looked over his shoulder at a sleeping Claire. "She's extremely fragile right now, be careful how you question her."

"I know, Jack. I deal with these victims every day. And she's my friend."

Jack woke Claire at eight-fifteen and told her Alex was on her way. Her eyes widened and she looked down at her body. "I need to shower," she said, and got up. Jack made a fresh pot of coffee while Claire showered again, and had a cup waiting for her when she emerged from his bedroom, dressed in jeans and one of his shirts. Alex knocked on the door at exactly eight-thirty. Jack let her in and offered coffee, blocking her first look at Claire.

"Yes, thank you, black," she said, and stepped around him. She stopped when she saw Claire. "My God," she whispered, "oh sweetie." She dropped her briefcase and moved to the couch, gently hugging Claire. "Shouldn't you still be in the hospital?"

Claire touched her bruised face, then her throat. "Nothing's broken," she mumbled.

Jack put a cup of coffee in Alex's hand, forcing her to release Claire. "Nothing physical," he added.

Alex took the hint from Claire's rigid body and moved away, to the far end of the couch. Jack inserted himself between them. Claire took his hand, staring at the door with that thousand yard stare. Alex watched her for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Claire, we have Meadows in custody. I'm charging him with attempted murder." She saw Claire's hand move unconsciously to her bandaged throat. "I have to ask you about it. Are you up for that?"

Her hand went limp in Jack's. "I guess. There isn't much to tell." Her tone was flat.

Alex looked at Jack, alarmed. He shrugged a shoulder, _told you,_ as he rubbed Claire's thumb with his. Alex cleared her throat again. "I know you gave Olivia a statement last night." She got up for her briefcase, opened it and grabbed a legal pad and pen. "Did you hear him come in?"

Claire looked at her. "I was in the bathroom. Do you think I would have come out if I'd heard him?"

Alex nodded. "So he was waiting when you came out of the bathroom?"

"Yes."

"And what happened?"

"He covered my mouth with his nasty hand and almost snapped my neck. He said if I made a sound, he'd cut my throat. Then he dragged me into my bedroom." Her voice went flatter and softer with each sentence, as she drifted farther away from reality with each recalled image. "He raped me. Then he cut my throat and went out the window. Jack came home and found me."

"Alex," Jack said. He lifted Claire into his lap and cradled her.

"Jack." Alex was gentle. "What did you find?"

He looked at Alex, resting his cheek on Claire's head. "A horror show. She was lying on the bed, her clothes cut off, bleeding. I called 911. This is enough for now. I'm not pushing her any further."

"Have you called your department shrink?"

God, he thought, was Alex that insensitive, did she think Claire couldn't hear them? "I will if she wants to talk to her. Otherwise, I'm not letting anyone near her." He stroked Claire's back, felt her slowly relax under his reassuring, familiar touch.

Claire heard them, but she was unaffected by their words. Jack's hand, on her back, was all that grounded her. If he stopped, she thought she'd implode. The pain in her heart was overwhelming, grief on a scale she'd never experienced. She gripped the fabric of his shirt as he talked to Alexandra Cabot, holding on for dear life. He stopped talking and looked down at her. He couldn't see her face, but he saw, felt, her hand squeezing a fistful of his shirt. He tilted her head up and looked into her empty eyes.

"I won't leave you," he whispered. "Baby, I know it hurts, I don't know how but I know it does. You have to tell me how to help you." He began a gentle rocking motion, holding her close, pressing her face against his chest, and she soon soaked it. He looked at Alex, desperate and afraid. "Do you know what to do?" he asked.

Tears formed in Alex's eyes for her shattered friend. "No," she said, matching Jack's whisper. "I think you should call your shrink, Jack."

He kissed Claire's head before answering Alex. "Not unless she wants me to, she doesn't really like Liz all that much." He felt Claire's body tremble and he stood, holding her, carrying her into his bedroom. He put her gently on the bed and stretched out beside her. Alex followed. She hated feeling so impotent.

Claire stared at the window, so numb, so empty. She longed for oblivion, not sleep with its nightmares. She felt Jack's arm around her, knew Alex stood at the foot of the bed, but she didn't know how to communicate with them. Jack would interpret her body, he always did, and Alex could go to hell for all Claire cared right now. She wanted to be alone, in the semi-darkness of his bedroom, hidden from the world. She trembled, and turned her face into the pillow.

For her part, Alex knew rape victims were traumatized to one degree or another, but she'd never seen one so close to the edge. She'd always known Claire was vulnerable, that something hurt her terribly in the past, but she was also strong and bright. Seeing Claire Kincaid as helpless was uncomfortable. She wouldn't know Claire knew she was there if she hadn't turned her face into the pillow.

.

"Claire, what you're feeling is normal, all sexual assault victims grieve to some extent. They also feel dirty, scared, and do not want to be touched." Alex tried to reach her friend_._ "Counseling helps a lot."

"I'm tired of repeating what happened," Claire mumbled.

"I know, but you really need to talk to somebody."

Claire didn't want to deal with it, and so she rolled over, pressing her face into Jack's shoulder.

Alex looked at Jack. "It's a rough road. She might benefit from some sleep, maybe Rodgers will sedate her, and counseling if she wants to talk to someone professionally." She looked at her watch. "I'm sorry, but I need to get back." She hesitated, hoping Claire would say something. "Call me if you need anything. Claire, I'm so damned sorry, I wish there was something I could do." She left as quietly as she'd arrived.

Once the door closed, something broke inside Claire. She sobbed, hard, choking, shaking sobs that came from her core. She held onto Jack, and felt his hands on her back. She had no idea how long she cried, but the tears were drying when the phone rang. Jack rolled on his back to grab it. "McCoy," he snapped.

"Jack, it's Liz Rodgers. Alex Cabot called me, she thinks Claire needs sedation. It's almost time for my lunch break, I can run over with something to put her under."

Jack looked at Claire. "That would be good," he said.

"See you in a few." Liz hung up.

"Claire? Liz Rodgers is coming over, she's going to give you something to help you sleep."

"Good," Claire said, wanting oblivion so much. "Jack, I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"Shh." He gently kissed her bruised cheek. "You're holding on, that's all that counts. We'll get through this."

But, she thought, what will happen when you realize the woman in your bed was had by a rapist? What kinds of things will you think about? Will you still want me? If you stop loving me, I think I'll die. She said none of it, she just held him, let his strong arms make her feel almost safe.

And then another rapping at the door. Jack got up. Claire clutched the pillow, waiting. Liz Rodgers came in, a medical bag dangling from her hand. She sat on the edge of the bed and put a light hand on Claire's shoulder. "I stopped by the hospital, I'm going to shoot your ass full of knock out juice. Turn on your side, please."

Claire obediently rolled over, and Liz pulled her sweatpants down. There was the sting of an alcohol wipe, then the prick of a needle, quickly followed by another alcohol wipe. By the time Liz had her pants back up, Claire was drifting away. "Thanks," she said, as her eyes closed.

Rodgers got up and looked at Jack. "Christ, how long has she been like this?"

"Since it happened. What did you give her?"

"Demerol. It kills pain and it knocks you on your ass. She'll sleep for hours." She watched Jack cover Claire with a blanket, then followed him into the living room. "I also signed out a dozen Percocet and a dozen sleeping pills. Do not mix the two. The Percocet will make her drowsy, kill pain, make her a little high. The sleeping pills will send her into oblivion. Use them judiciously." She put a brown bag in his hand.

"I will. Thank you."

"It's got to be horrible." Liz glanced at the bedroom.

"I should have been here."

"Don't, please. You have to be strong and confident, for her. What's going to happen to the bastard?"

"Adam told Alex to plead him out – charge him with attempted murder of an ADA and bargain from there. I don't want her testify, go through that."

"Then I hope Alex brokers the right deal." She patted Jack's shoulder. "Call me if you need me. If she completely breaks down, take her to Mercy."

"I will." He opened the door and saw Liz out. When he'd locked them in, he stopped by the bathroom before returning to Claire. He slipped under the blanket with her and wrapped her in his arms. She was totally limp, unconscious, and he was glad. He hoped there was peace in the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Claire slept, as predicted, all day and into the night. Jack dozed for awhile, then got up. He showered, changed into fresh clothes, and made a drink. He put a CD in the stereo, the Stones, and sat on his couch. He stared at the pill bottles Dr. Rodgers left and thought of Claire.

In his imagination, he saw that slimy little man holding her down, knife to her throat, then slicing her clothes open. He imagined the man penetrating her, and he wondered if she fought him or if the training kicked in – don't fight, survive. He closed his eyes, but that made the mental imagery worse. The visual of that man, forcing himself into Claire, made him ill. He slugged back the scotch, seeking numbness in his own way. His images were imaginary, hers were memory, no wonder she was a wreck. He felt a headache coming, and he put his drink down, then stretched out on the couch, turning off the lamp. And still he saw that man driving into Claire, sweating on her, ejaculating into her, and then cutting her throat, however superficially. Jack was grateful for that much, that Marc Meadows hadn't killed her. Degraded her, yes, but he spared her life.

His battle with his imagination gave him a little insight into what she endured, and his heart broke for her. She really had been an innocent at heart, despite the evil they saw every day. She believed that evil would not reach out and touch them, and now it had kidnapped her. He knew how her mind worked, what she'd be thinking – that he couldn't overcome the idea of that repulsive little man inside her. And she thought he would leave her. God. He sat up, holding his head between his hands. This headache was going to be a monster.

Impulsively, he reached for the Percocet bottle, guided by the light from the bathroom. He could barely read the label. When he was certain he had the right medicine, he opened the bottle and took one. He hadn't had enough alcohol to worry about. He got up and walked to the bathroom, turning off the light. He let his eyes adjust, then walked the few steps to his bedroom door and into the room.

He undressed and got into bed with Claire. She stirred when the bed moved, then was still. He scooted next to her and wrapped her in his arms. "I love you," he whispered, "and I will not leave you." He was in a deep sleep within half an hour.

--xx—

The sun woke him. He sat up with a start, the bed was empty. He threw the covers back and walked into the living room. Claire stood at the windows, looking down at the street, hugging herself. He came up behind her, clearing his throat softly, and she turned as he put his arms around her.

"You're cold," he said. "Come back to bed. Do you hurt?"

"Some."

"Rodgers left pain medicine for you." He turned from her and snagged the bottle off the coffee table. He tipped one into her palm, then got water for her. She took the pill, drained the water, and then looked bewildered, as if she didn't know what to do next. He took the glass and put it on the kitchen bar, then guided her back to bed. They lay on their backs, and her hand reached for his. "You slept," he said.

"Like the dead."

"Claire, I don't know what's going on in your head, but if you're afraid that I'm going to leave you because of this, I'm not. That little asswipe is not taking you from me."

She turned on her side, her head on his shoulder, and rubbed his stomach. "I don't know what's going to happen to me," she said.

"How do you feel?"

"Violated. Broken." She stopped rubbing his stomach and moved her hand to his shoulder. "I feel dirty. I feel like I did something wrong or stupid to cause this."

"You didn't do either."

"Then why does my heart hurt so much?"

He pulled the covers higher and turned so they were face to face. "You aren't responsible for any of it. We're going to get through this."

"I'm not so sure. It feels like someone died."

He understood that much, the end of innocence was a terrible thing, but it ultimately came to everyone. "We don't need to talk it to death. If you want to talk about it, fine, I'm here, but we don't have to obsess on it."

She stroked his cheek. "I keep thinking that if I don't think, it'll go away."

"I don't know, but I don't think so. You're calling the shots, I'm not going anywhere."

"It was vile." Her voice choked. "I keep remembering it, feeling it."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing." Tears formed in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. "Just help me get on with life, put this behind me."

He kissed her, gently, sweetly. "Sleep, baby," he whispered, "I'll be right here when you wake up."

--xx—

Alexandra Cabot walked into the attorney's room at Rikers and slammed her briefcase on the steel table. Marc didn't jump, but his lawyer did. "Attempted murder of an ADA, first degree rape of an ADA, twenty-five to life to cover both."

The lawyer sat up straighter. "Both?"

"Both. I don't want to put the victim through a trial. Opt for trial and you're looking at life without parole. The State of New York does not look kindly on those who attack their law enforcement agents."

"It's a good deal, Marc," his lawyer said.

"Far more generous than he deserves." Alex's skin crawled just being in the same room with the man. "You have thirty seconds to decide." She looked at her watch.

"So you don't want that broad to have to testify?" Marc said.

"Fifteen seconds. I promise, if this goes to trial, I will wipe the floor with you."

"Marc," his attorney urged.

Marc Meadows grinned and said "I like seeing the bitch suffer. I'm going down anyway, might as well enjoy the process."


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

While Claire slept, Jack made the most difficult phone call. Selma Gellar answered, sparing Jack the ordeal of speaking to Mac Gellar, but Mrs. Gellar was not much easier. "Mrs. Gellar," he said, "This is Jack McCoy. I have some unsettling news." He looked at the closed bedroom door. This had to be done, whether Claire liked it or not.

"What's happened to Claire?" Mrs. Gellar's voice was cold.

He drew a deep breath. The words stuck in his throat, and he cleared it. "Claire was raped two days ago. The man's in custody."

"Oh my God." Silence followed for a few precious seconds. "Where were you? Where did this happen? And why are you telling me now, days later?"

He sighed. God, this woman had to have been a Jesuit priest presiding over the Inquisition in an earlier life. "It happened at her apartment. I was at Sing-Sing on business. I'm telling you now because she did not want you to know at all." He let that last remark sink in. "I need to know if you know any close friend, someone she has a bond with, someone she can talk to. She refuses to talk to Dr. Olivet, and she's falling apart. Please. Help me help her, put your feelings for me aside for her sake. Doesn't she have some friend from Smith she's close to?"

Selma Gellar was silent for a few moments. "Yes, her name is Annie Long, she lives in Vermont. A very odd person, but Claire was close to her. I may have her address in my book, hold on." Jack heard the receiver hit something hard, then heard Claire's mother mumbling in the background. She came back to the phone a few minutes later. "I don't know if this is still good, but Annie called here once, looking for Claire. This is the number she gave me to give Claire."

Jack scribbled Annie's name and number on the pad by the phone. "Thank you, Mrs. Gellar."

"Hold on, Mr. McCoy." Selma's tone was entirely too similar to the nuns of Jack's childhood. "I want to know how my daughter is."

He rubbed his forehead. "She's a wreck, which is to be expected. She doesn't want to see anyone. I'm doing the best I can, but I'm a man, I'm the enemy even if she doesn't want me to be."

"Understandable. Mac and I shall be over to see her this afternoon."

"Mrs. Gellar, that's not a good idea."

"She's my daughter, Mr. McCoy, I will see her. I cannot believe you waited this long to tell me. We'll be there at three." She hung up on him.

Jack stared at the receiver, whispered _oh fuck you bitch_, and put the receiver back in its base. Claire was going to kill him for this, but he was desperate, he needed help. He walked into the kitchen for more coffee, then sat on the couch and stared at the name and number on the notepad._ Annie Long, Claire used to talk about an Annie, about their adventures. Please be willing to help Claire._ He drew a breath, picked up the phone, and carefully pressed the number pads. He put the phone to his ear and heard it connect, heard the quick staccato rings, and then a woman's voice said hello.

"Annie Long?" he asked. When she said yes, he continued. "My name is Jack McCoy, I'm a very close friend of Claire Kincaid's."

"Claire?" The woman sounded delighted. "God, I've been trying to get up with her for ages. How is she?" Her tone shifted as she asked, realizing it was not good for the call to come from Jack.

"That's just it, Ms. Long. Claire's in a bad way, and I can't seem to help her. I was hoping maybe you could, you two were good friends, right?"

"Yes. Please explain, Mr. McCoy, and call me Annie."

"Annie, Claire was raped a few days ago, and she's an emotional wreck. I don't know what to do, and she refuses to see our department shrink. Our medical people are keeping her sedated for now, but it's not helping much."

"I'd think not. Where do you live, Mr. McCoy?"

"Jack," he said, "My name is Jack. We live in New York City, we're district attorneys."

"Her mother told me she was an attorney the last time I had the displeasure of talking with that woman. Of course I'll try to help. I live in Vermont, but," and she paused, he imagined her looking at her watch and calculating, "if I leave now, I can be in the city in about six hours. What's your address?" Jack gave it to her, along with his phone number. "I don't know what you know about me, Jack, but I'm rather unconventional. That said, I do know how to reach Claire, I think I can help her. I'll see you this afternoon. Thank you for calling."

Jack hung up, wondering what he'd gotten into. Annie was pleasant, but he wondered what unconventional meant. At least she didn't like Selma Gellar, big points in Jack's book, and if she helped Claire, then it didn't matter how unconventional she was. He sipped coffee, wondering how to tell Claire her mother was invading their home. He wouldn't be surprised if she ran away, he thought, with a wry smile, but at least running was better than apathy and fear.

He heard the bedroom door open and Claire's footsteps as she walked to the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later, poured coffee, and joined Jack on the couch. She tucked her bare feet under her bottom and looked at him before sipping the steaming brew she loved. "You've been up to no good," she said, "it's written all over your face."

He shrugged. "Depends on your point of view." He leaned forward, touching the tape curling away from her neck. "I need to change that today."

She covered her throat with her free hand. "I know. So what's up?"

He looked at her dulled eyes, her defeated posture, the black and blue bruises over swollen tissue, and swallowed. "Claire, I don't know how to help you. I love you, and I know you love me, but at the same time, you see me as the enemy, as a male, the species who hurt you so badly." His hand reached for hers and she let him take it. "I need help, you need help. I understand why you want nothing to do with Olivet, I'm cool with that, but somebody has to help you." He almost cried, anticipating what he must say next and her reaction. "I called your mother, I remember you talking about a friend from Smith you were close to, I got her number."

"Annie," she said, softly. Then she cocked her head. "You called my mother?"

"I didn't know what else to do, I'm sorry."

Claire sipped her coffee. "Don't tell me, she's going to sail in here and save the day." The bitterness in her voice frightened him.

"I doubt she'll save the day, but yes, she insisted on coming here. At three, with Mac. But I talked to Annie." Her eyebrows rose. "She's coming, too, she should be here around the same time."

"That should be interesting," Claire said, "since Annie's a practicing witch and my mother is scared shitless of her." She drank again, then coughed. "I'm glad you called Annie, Jack. I can talk to her. As for my mother, well, your intentions were good and it was the only way to get Annie's number." She unfolded her legs and stretched them. "God, my mother and Mac. Carol and Mike Brady they're not."

Claire never spoke of what caused the estrangement with her mother and stepfather, and Jack never pried. He watched her, wondering if she'd tell him now. She met his steady gaze, saw the love mixed with fear in his cocker spaniel eyes, and tried to smile. She failed miserably. "Mother must be really worried about me to give up Annie's contact information. What did you tell her?"

"That you'd been raped and weren't doing well. She more or less blamed me for not protecting you."

"No surprise there." She finished her coffee, and when he offered a refill, nodded. When he returned with fresh coffee, she sniffed, sipped, and said "My mother and I have been at odds since I was a teenager. She couldn't deal with me and packed my skinny ass off to boarding school. I was fine with that, it got me away from her. There was no pleasing her." She held up a hand, critically examining her long fingers. "She pushed piano lessons on me, and no matter how much I practiced, how well I did, it wasn't enough. Julliard would have been enough in her eyes." She dropped her hand to her thigh. "Since I had no desire to go to Julliard, she accepted Smith as a suitable substitution, but she found my housemates distasteful." This time her smile succeeded. "I loved that, and made sure they were always around whenever she and Mac would visit. She took one look at Avery Bennett's paintings and nearly fainted, and when she saw Annie's altar, she practically ran out of the house to the Dean's office. Eventually she stopped visiting." She sighed. "You don't want to hear all this."

"Actually, I do."

"She pitched a fit when she couldn't get Annie expelled, or at least moved from my house, but the Dean explained that freedom of religion and expression were important at Smith, that Annie was an exceptional student and member of the student body, much loved by her housemates, and my mother could take her potential endowment and give it to someone else." She raised her eyebrows. "I was shocked, deans don't usually piss off donors, but she held firm against my mother. And then the Dean dropped in on our house."

Jack knew how Smith's student housing was designed, but this was the first time Claire had gone into detail about life there. He listened intently.

"So there we are, six or so of us, in the living room, Avery asked what had I done, dropped a house on my mother's sister? The Dean, who did not have to knock to enter, comes in, hears that, and bursts out laughing. Dean Stockton, God, I haven't thought of her in ages. Then she politely asked to see Avery's paintings – Selma was shocked, shocked she screeched, to see paintings of penises and breasts on the walls of her daughter's room." Claire managed another smile, this was safe territory. "Then she wanted to see Annie's room. Maybe she expected to see it decorated in Early Halloween or something, I don't know. And then she asked to speak to me privately. We went to my room, with Avery's paintings adorning the walls, and she asked me if I was happy there. I said I was, and she said that was all she needed to know. She told me I was an exceptional student housed with other exceptional, highly creative people, and the environment agreed with me. She told me not to worry about my mother, nothing would change, and, with a courteous goodbye to all of us, left." Claire shrugged. "One of the few times when Mrs. Mac Gellar did not get her way."

"And I'm another."

Claire reached over and rubbed his knee. "Indeed, laddie, you are. She and Mac are horrified that I'd have 'intimate relations' with a man old enough to be my father." She smiled. "Of course I pointed out that, chronologically, you were not old enough to be my father, and who I slept with was none of their business. Cradle robber, I believe, was the term Mac applied to you. Ironic, since he bangs a different student each semester." She lightly scratched her neck.

"Let me change that," Jack said. "When's the next wound check?"

Claire put her nearly empty mug on the end table. "Rodgers said she'd do it today if I wanted."

"Do you want?"

She shrugged. "Might as well. I need a shower, maybe you'll give her a call while I do that?"

"Yeah, sure." He stood with her, led her into the kitchen where the light was best, and gently peeled the bandage away. He noticed some redness and swelling around the stitches, and made a mental note to mention that to Dr. Rodgers. Claire left him standing in the kitchen as she went into the bathroom.

He stepped to the wall phone next to the refrigerator and looked at Rodgers' card stuck between the phone and wall. He punched her number and waited to be connected to the morgue.

"Rodgers." The tough, typical New Yorker voice could scratch glass if Liz was annoyed.

"Liz, Jack. Did I interrupt?"

"Nah, I'm just slicing off the top of some poor sucker's head to get at his brain. One of my trained monkeys can finish that procedure. What's up?"

"Claire needs a wound check. I just looked at it, there's some redness and swelling around the stitches."

"No, you idiot, you do not drop a liver like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop, that's part of a human being! Sorry, Jack, one of the monkeys needs more supervision than the others. Swelling and redness? I'll take a look. I assume she still won't leave the house?"

"No."

"I'm basically done with the late Mr. Todd, I can zip over in twenty minutes. Have you replaced the bandage?"

"No, she's in the shower."

"OK, hold off on that until I look at it. Is she talking to anyone?"

"Me, but not about what happened. I finally bit the bullet and called her mother, hoping she'd know how to get up with an old friend from Smith. She did, so this woman's coming, I hope like hell she can help. I don't know what else to do."

"You've been a saint, but even saints have a breaking point. Let me change out of my scrubs and I'll be over." She hung up, and Jack wondered why everyone was hanging up on him today. He heard the bathroom door hinge squeak, and he looked up. Claire, wrapped in a towel, with her wet hair combed back, walked into the bedroom.

He followed. "Liz Rodgers is coming over to look at that."

Claire fastened her bra and reached for one of his old oxford shirts with buttoned collar points. "OK." She buttoned the shirt, then took a pair of jeans off a hangar. "I hope she takes them out, they itch." She stepped into her pants and almost lost her balance. Jack caught her elbow, steadying her. "Thanks," she muttered, and fastened and zipped her jeans. She fluffed her shirttail, which hung halfway down her thighs, then sat on the bed to pull on a pair of thick white socks. "Jack." She looked up at him. "I know this is hard on you, I'm so sorry."

He sat beside her. "It's nowhere near as hard on me as it is on you, don't worry about me."

She nodded, then got up to brush her hair. He quickly changed into jeans and a sweatshirt before Rodgers got there. He heard the blow-dryer in the bathroom, which was progress, he thought, since Claire hadn't cared about anything since it happened.

Rodgers had a knock like no one else, a sharp rapping burst followed by a couple of taps. He opened the door and stepped back. "Thanks for coming," he said.

She smiled. "I understand why she won't go out, I don't mind. We're all on the same team, gotta take care of each other."

Claire came out of the bathroom. Her face was still an unholy mess, Liz reflected, but she was more concerned with the neck wound. Carrying her bag, she followed Claire into the kitchen. She tilted Claire's head gently upward. Then she put her bag on the counter and rummaged through it. Finding what she needed, she applied a cream to an elongated Q-tip and smeared it over the stitches. She put a couple of layers over and around the wound, then tossed the tip in the trash. She soon had a fresh square of gauze over the wound and securely taped it.

"I'm not too concerned with your neck," she said, "but if you start running a fever, you need to see a doctor who specializes in the living. How's your pain?"

Claire shrugged. "It's a crapshoot. Sometimes my face hurts like hell, other times not so much."

"I signed out another dozen Percocet." She held the foil-covered package. "How many do you have left?"

"Jack?" Claire looked at him, he was the one who dispensed them.

He got the original pharmacy bottle and opened it. "Four," he said, "but I took one for a budding migraine."

Liz handed the package to him. "Be careful with those, buddy." Then she looked at Claire again. "I hear a friend is coming to visit. I hope she's what you need. And if I can help, call."

"Thanks."

"I gotta get back to the monkeys," she said. "I really hate being chief ME." She shook her head. "See you in a couple of days, we'll see about taking those stitches out." She patted Claire's shoulder and left.

Jack broke the foil over the pills and put them in the labeled bottle. "How is your pain?" he asked.

"I could use one of those."

He took the last one out of its plastic nest and put it in her hand. She got a Diet Coke and swallowed it, then moved slowly back to the couch. She stretched out, hugging a pillow, while Jack put the apartment in order – making the bed, picking up empty soda cans, and running a dust cloth over flat surfaces.

At quarter of three, there was a soft knock on the door. Jack glanced at Claire, who was sleeping, before checking the peep hole. He saw a short woman, with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, sunglasses covering her eyes. He opened the door. The woman smiled, removed her sunglasses, and extended her hand.

"Jack? I'm Annie Long." Her voice was soft. She wore jeans and a blue crewneck sweater, as well as hiking boots. She stepped into the apartment and immediately saw Claire. Letting her purse slide to the floor and leaving her suitcase beside it, she moved to her friend and knelt on the floor. With the gentleness of a mother with her newborn, Annie took Claire's limp hand and placed it against her cheek. Jack watched as she closed her eyes, Claire's hand still against her cheek. Then, with equal care, she put Claire's hand back and stood.

"Would you like something to drink?" Jack asked, trying to hide his curiosity.

"Yes, thank you."

"What would you like? We have Diet Coke, water, scotch…" he trailed off.

"A Diet Coke is fine, thanks." She followed him into the kitchen and leaned on a counter. "She's deeply wounded," Annie began, "more so than you think. Some of the wounds are years old, courtesy of her mother." Annie took the opened Diet Coke and sipped. "What happened to her, she dreams it, it runs on a loop in her mind when she's awake, a nightmare she can't escape. And she fears she'll lose you." A sweet smile broke on Annie's face. "I sent her deep sleep thoughts, as I don't think even her self-absorbed mother would wake her under these circumstances."

Jack was uncomfortable. "Claire said you're a practicing witch?"

Annie laughed, it was a lyrical, infectious sound, and her cobalt blue eyes danced. "I'm Wiccan, yes, part of a long line of high priestesses and wizards. My magic is white, our rede is as long as it harms none, do as ye will – and my line wills to help others in any way we can. I'm also a well educated woman of my times, and not a gullible freak who wants to be, thinks they are, Samantha Stevens. Claire is very comfortable with me, and I hope you'll learn to be. Her mother, on the other hand, thinks I'm some kind of evil sorcerer and fears me. Comes in handy when Claire needs protecting from the bitch."

Jack was disarmed by her honesty, by her easy laughter, and her obvious affection for Claire. "Let's sit down," he said.

Annie glanced around. "At the table," she said. "I don't want Claire to sense me and wake while her mother's around." Once seated, she reached for Jack's hand. Her skin was warm. He felt calmness, peace, and absolute confidence flow from her into him. "You love her very much," Annie said. She released his hand. "She surprised you with her skills as an attorney, you thought she'd be a student of sorts, and now she's nearly caught up with you. And the guilt you feel, banish it, there's no guilt on your part. Getting those images out of your head, what you saw, that's another matter."

Jack shook his head, but before he responded, someone pounded on his door. He moved quickly, angry, and yanked the door open on Selma and Mac Gellar. "What the hell do you think you're doing, she's sleeping!"

Selma pushed past him and saw Claire on the couch, under a blanket, eyes closed, her breathing deep and steady. Then she saw Annie. "You're here," she said.

Annie rose gracefully and approached Mrs. Gellar. "I am. Jack asked for my help. How are you, Mrs. Gellar? Hello, Mr. Gellar." She turned slightly to acknowledge the law professor, who stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room. Jack closed the door, but lingered by it, watching the scene, amused.

"Annie, what help can you possibly be?" Mrs. Gellar edged closer to her husband.

"I can listen, which is often a great help, isn't it? Claire can say things to me she might be reluctant to share with anyone else, even with someone she loves as much as Jack." Annie looked at Jack with a fond smile, and he grinned, score one for the witch from Vermont.

"Claire may think she's in love with Jack, but one day she'll realize she wants someone closer to her age," Selma snapped.

"Perhaps we should keep our voices down, Mrs. Gellar, sleep is good for Claire, healing in its way." Annie gestured toward the table under the windows.

"In a second," Selma said, but her voice was softer. She walked to the couch and knelt beside her only child, looking at her battered face, making a choking sound. Her hand moved as if to touch Claire, hung there for a second, then it fell back to Selma's side. She slowly got up and joined the others at the table. Jack brought Diet Cokes for the Gellars, then sat at the end of the table closest to his lover.

Selma looked at him, pain and anger written on her face, a face Claire resembled. "Jack," she said, "what in God's name happened to my baby?"

Annie sent a strong directed thought to Jack: patience and gentleness, for Claire. Jack shifted in his chair, then picked up his drink before answering. "A man Claire tried and convicted for rape was released because the police engaged in an illegal search. He wanted revenge, I guess, because a couple of days after he was released, he broke into her apartment and raped and savagely beat her. He slit her throat, but the cut was superficial. I came home from Sing-Sing and found her on the bed. She was bleeding so badly I thought she was gone." His voice caught. When he had control again, he said, "We've apprehended the man, he'll go away for a very long time. But Claire…" he faltered again and looked at Annie.

"Claire, as you well know, Mrs. Gellar, had an innocence rare in this world. That's gone now. She's withdrawn from life. Jack is doing everything he can to help her, and so will I."

"With your voodoo?" Selma didn't try hide the scorn in her voice.

Annie's smile was gentle. "With good food, unconditional love, fresh air, and an enduring ear."

"And Jack can't or won't do those things?" Selma shot metaphorical daggers at Jack with her eyes.

"Selma," Mac said.

"Jack would do those things," Annie said, "but he's a man, and it was a man who perpetrated these terrible things. As much as she loves and trusts him, in the end, he's always going to have a penis, and therein lies the need for outside help." Annie suddenly cocked her head. "Jack, she's about to wake up from a really bad nightmare."

Claire was twitching on the couch as Jack rose from the table. She sat up, calling him. He sat on the couch with her and gathered her in his arms, stroking her hair and murmuring. Selma looked at Annie.

"There is something wrong with you, young lady. You need to go to church, repent of your Satanic beliefs." Selma got up and walked to her daughter. "Claire?" she tentatively said.

Claire buried her face in Jack's shoulder, her own shaking with silent sobs. Jack kept stroking her hair as he looked up at Selma Gellar. "I think you should go, Claire's not in any shape to see anyone."

"I'm not leaving unless she asks me to, she needs her mother."

Jack felt Claire stiffen, and for a second thought it was his maleness, but then she lifted her battered face to her mother. "Please go," she said, her voice choked with pain. "I need Jack, not you."

"So you don't need Annie, either?" Selma hid her hurt under snide digs, her personal art form.

Claire grabbed a handful of Jack's shirt, edged further into the protective shelter of his arm and shoulder, and said, softly and slowly, "I need Annie, too. I don't need you, I don't want to answer your prurient questions, satisfy your sick desire to know what rape is like." And she turned her face into Jack's broad, hard chest again.

"Selma." Mac stood by her side. "Let's go. Her needs come first, and she needs them, not us." He touched Selma's side. Then he cleared his throat. "Claire, I, we, are so sorry. If we can do anything, please call us. We'll go now, let you rest."

Annie saw them to the door. When Claire heard it close and the deadbolt click, she sat up. "Oh, Annie," she said, and fresh tears streamed from her swollen eyes.

Annie moved to her side, and Jack released her. Claire turned to Annie and leaned into Annie's open arms. She smelled all the things she associated with her friend – incense, candle wax, cigarette smoke, and lavender. She felt the affection and strength her friend offered, and sat up. Annie reached for the box of Kleenex on the end table, and Claire yanked a couple out of the box. She carefully blotted her face. "I am such a fucked up mess," she said.

"And well you should be," Annie said. "You're in pain, why are you trying to be so brave?"

"Claire, do you need some medicine?" Jack edged forward on the couch.

Claire nodded, twisting the damp tissues between her hands. Jack brought a cold Diet Coke and two Percocet to Claire, who tossed the pills back and chased them liberally with Diet Coke. Jack stood, looking down at the women, feeling an odd kind of hope. He touched Claire's shoulder. "Baby, I think I'll go to Devlin's, have a couple of drinks, let you and Annie have some time." He smiled at Annie. "Feel free to smoke, I don't mind."

When he was gone, Claire said, "God, he must like you, he never offers to let someone smoke in here. You know reformed smokers."

Annie laughed. "I'll take him up on it, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. I may actually bum a couple from you." She reached for the blanket. "Look in the bookcase beside his desk, he has an old ashtray he swiped from a pub in Ireland." She wrapped herself in the blanket and sat well back on the couch, folding her legs tailor-fashion.

When they were settled, Annie said "Do you want to talk?"

"I don't know where to begin."

Annie nodded and got up again. She rolled her suitcase over to the couch and knelt, unzipping it. She brought out several thick pillar candles, three white and one red, and arranged them in a circular pattern on the coffee table. She placed an incense burner in the center, with an incense cone, and then placed her athame to the eastern side. She bowed her head, was silent for a few seconds, then took a box of wooden matches and struck one. She lit the candles in order, then lit the incense cone. She drew a circle in the air with her athame, then replaced it and resumed her position on the couch, her hands on her knees.

"Pain is banished," she said, "you can remember without pain and suffering. You are protected from evil by the power of consuming love. Relax, and if your story wants to come, let it without fear."

Claire smiled. "I've always loved your rituals, Annie."

"They comfort me. I hope they comfort you."

"We knew this rapist had been released on a technicality, that we'd have to try him again, but that happens all the time. It didn't set off warning bells. I actually prosecuted him, it was my first rape case. Jack was proud of me, hell, I was proud of myself." She inhaled the delicate scent of incense, mingling with the unidentifiable scents of the candles, which she knew Annie made by hand. "It begins with Jack." She struggled to remember exactly how it began, and Annie rose.

"I'll make tea," she said, and she reached into her suitcase for a box of herbal tea. "You remember while I work."

Annie came back in a few minutes with two large mugs of tea and a sugar bowl and spoon. Claire spooned sugar into her tea and stirred, smiling as she recalled Annie and her purist claims – she didn't defile good tea or coffee with sugar or cream. "Jack," Annie said, again sitting like a tailor, holding the mug with both hands. "You're in love."

"Yeah. It's the real deal this time. For me, anyway."

"He loves you."

Claire looked at Annie. "You read him?"

"Of course. It's easy when the person doesn't believe you can do it."

"I never thought of him as my protector, you know? But I remember that night I felt uneasy and wanted him to come home. And then, when I stepped out of the john, Meadows was there. He almost broke my neck." She sipped tea and smiled. "God, that's good. Anyway, he dragged me to my bed and raped me, beat me up, and then he cut my throat." She absently touched the bandage on her neck. "Jack came home right after it happened, he called 911. It was easy to identify my rapist, I'd prosecuted him. The strange thing is he always screamed his innocence, but he knew we'd convict him again so it was like if he was going to prison for rape, then by God he'd rape someone, his prosecutor. Or am I the only one that makes sense to?"

"It makes sense." Annie lit a cigarette and offered one to Claire, who took it, thinking what the hell, why not. Annie reached over and touched Claire's cheek. She then cupped the bottom of her mug with the hand that touched Claire. "Did he use a condom?"

She shook her head. "I know, I have to sweat out the AIDS tests, and Jack will have to use one until we know."

"He doesn't have AIDS."

"You'll excuse me if I wait for a doctor to tell me that."

Annie shrugged. "Get a court order and have him tested, then you won't have to wait."

"That's in the works, but I'll still have to be tested, just to be sure." She cocked her head. "OK, out with it, what did you see?"

Annie found it touching that Claire accepted her gifts as part of who Annie was. "The universe devises terrible tests sometimes, but it's how we know what we're made of. Are we cowards, heroes, abusers, and so forth. We all have an image of what we think we are, but until we're tested, we can't be sure."

"You're making me nervous."

Annie waved a hand over the candle circle. "Tests are an essential part of life. When's the last time you had sex with Jack, before you were raped?"

Claire thought, time was so messed up these days, she was so confused and lost. Annie somehow brought clarity. "The night before. What are you getting at?"

"It's only an impression, but a strong one. You hold certain values, and those are about to be tested. Specifically, your stance as pro-choice."

Claire put her empty mug aside and wrapped herself tighter in the blanket. "You're telling me I'm pregnant? And I can't possibly know who the father is?"

"What would you do?"

"I want to have Jack's baby one day. No way in hell would I have my rapist's."

"There's your test. Do you have the baby, hoping it's Jack's, or abort it, believing it's probably your rapist's?"

Claire leaned against the arm of the couch, resting on the pillows piled there earlier, when she slept. She felt Annie's love envelope her. "Annie, I'm on the pill."

"Shit happens, even to the best of us. What would you do?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "Probably abort it, since there's an even chance it's my rapist's." She stretched her legs out, putting her feet in Annie's lap. Annie started massaging them. "Annie, does this universe you float in tell you I'm pregnant?"

Annie massaged Claire's arches. "It tells me it's a possibility and you must think it through before you have to make a decision."

"So spiral into a depression and worry over something that might not be?"

"Define your values, yourself, Claire Kincaid." Her smile was sweet. "I know how much pain you're in, and I know the thought of this adds to it, but at the same time, if you gain perspective and clarity of thought, you'll get through this." She kept working on Claire's feet. "What did we always say mattered most in the world?"

"Love, but we were students, we were always falling in love."

Annie nodded. "And what never dies?"

"Love, I guess."

"Some schools of thought hold that we choose our parents." Annie's smile was crooked. "So why would you have chosen Selma?"

"Keep it up and I'll throw a fucking pillow at your head."

"Perhaps so you'd recognize real love when you encountered it?"

"The meds are kicking in, between them and this massage, you're going to put me to sleep. I'm so tired of the nightmares, Annie."

"I know, baby. It will get better, I promise."

"It would break my heart to abort Jack's baby, and it would kill me to give birth to that monster's child." She wiggled deeper in the pillows. "God, you have great hands, almost as good as Jack's."

Annie laughed. "If my hands went where Jack's go, you might consider the competition a draw."

Claire laughed, a real laugh. "That's one contest we'll skip. God, he's amazing, sometimes he fucks me senseless, ya know? I have to beg him to stop before he kills me."

"Best way I can think of to go." She started working on the other foot. "He's completely lost, Claire. He wants to help, to heal you, and he doesn't know how."

"I don't think anyone can. You're the only one I've been able to talk to, you don't have inappropriate questions and morbid curiosity."

"Nope. I'm just here to listen."

Claire squinted at her. "Are you working your magic on me?"

"No, darlin', I'm just loving my friend. I wouldn't work magic on you without your consent."

"Can you make the pain, the images and memory, go away?"

"I wish I could. Time and talk will help with that." She wiggled Claire's toes. "Let Jack help, or at least let him think he's helping."

"What scares me is knowing he's going to want to make love at some point, and I'm afraid I'll freak out."

"What are you going to let win? Love, the love you feel for Jack, or hate, the hate you rightly feel for your rapist?"

"Where do you get these questions?"

"From the universe." She worked Claire's ankle. "I'm saying you have to decide how to live on your own terms, whatever they may be."

"What did you put in that tea, I feel like Silly Putty."

Annie smiled. "You've had it before. It's for relaxation, relieving stress and worry. Added to your pain meds, it's no wonder you feel like Silly Putty."

"You really think I'm pregnant, that your universe could be so cruel?"

Annie shrugged. "I only know I was to broach the subject. Where are you in the calendar?"

"I couldn't answer that right now for a million bucks, I'm too fucked up."

Annie grinned. "And it's perfectly legal, so enjoy it."

"I keep a day planner in my purse, want to get it? That'll answer the million dollar question."

Annie eased out from under Claire's feet. "Where's your purse?"

"Jack's desk, or it was."

"Got it." She opened it and found the day book. She gave it to Claire and then slid under her feet again, flexing her fingers before resuming the massage.

"Shit, I'm too wasted to read. Here. I put a check mark on the day my period started."

Annie flipped through the pages, found what she looked for, did the math in her head. "I'd say you better be good at counting." Annie closed the planner and tossed it on the coffee table. "Don't run from it, one thing I know you're not is a coward. We can assume modern pharmacology works, but be aware, that's all I'm saying. And get that little fucker tested for AIDS."

"They'll do it, someone will come by and tell me, then draw my blood."

"He's going to be negative, I'm getting clear messages about that."

"Clairaudient psycho." Claire smiled. "God, if Jack finds me this stoned, he'll pop a screw."

"Oh, I seriously doubt that."

"How can you be so damned sure the rapist is negative for AIDS and that Jack won't care that I'm totally wasted, but can't be sure whether or not I'm pregnant? Explain that, please, it makes your universe sound capricious and cruel."

Annie began working Claire's calf muscles. "I can't. I just know that you need to be aware of the possibility and what you'll do if it happens. Consider it a final exam on the convictions of Claire Kincaid."

"How about I decide to not think about it?"

"You can do that. I hate to tell you this, but you'd think about it whether I brought it up or not."

"I have more faith in Pfizer than I do in your universe. And if a lightning bolt comes flying through the window, Jack will really be pissed." Claire yawned. "I love you, Annie Long, even if you are a wonderful nutcase."

Annie switched calves. "I know, you proud agnostic. I love you, too."

Claire's eyes grew heavy. Annie watched her carefully, she'd need to get her in bed before she went completely out of it. "C'mon, girlfriend, let's get your skinny ass in bed, you're about to pass out."

"OK." Claire wiggled out of her blanket and sat up. "Whoa. Either my head or the room is spinning."

"Up." Annie stood and pulled Claire to her feet. "You need to sleep, sweetie."

"Will you be here when I wake up?" She draped her arm around Annie's shoulders.

"Absolutely."

"Good. I want you to get to know Jack, but I warn you, he's more cynical than I am."

Annie pulled the covers back, then unfastened Claire's jeans. She pulled them to Claire's knees, then sat her on the mattress and yanked them the rest of the way off. Claire stretched out and Annie covered her. Kissing her friend's bruised forehead, she whispered "I hate to tell you this, but you missed the cynical gene." Certain Claire was safely tucked in, she left the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Jack walked in a couple of hours later, mildly buzzed. He saw Annie reading on the couch, no Claire in sight. He opened his mouth and Annie said "She's sleeping. Between the pain meds and the tea I gave her for relaxation, she was totally stoned."

Jack poured a drink and offered one to Annie, who declined. "How's she doing?"

Annie put her book aside. "She's worried about a lot of things, like how she can make love with you without freaking out, if her rapist has AIDS, and what to do if somehow her birth control failed."

"Wow." Jack sat down and rubbed his face. "Talk about heavy shit. Well, they sicced Dracula on the scumbag this morning, so we'll know in a few days if he has AIDS. She's on the Pill, so I don't know why she'd worry about pregnancy." He raised his eyebrows inquisitively.

"As I told her, shit does happen. Actually, I told her the universe tests us, makes us define who we really are, by challenging the things we claim to believe in most."

"And?"

"And she's one of those people who believe in the sanctity of life, i.e. the death penalty is absolutely wrong, while at the same time are pro-choice. So sometimes the universe forces one to make decisions that clarify what you truly believe."

"My mind boggles." Jack slugged back a healthy swallow of scotch. "You're into this New Age stuff, I know you truly believe in it and I'm not denigrating it out of respect for you, but do you really believe that?"

"I believe that one cannot hold two contradictory positions. How can one insist that the death penalty is wrong, and yet support abortion as an option?"

He thought about that. "I don't think the death penalty is wrong, and I'm pro-choice, at least in certain cases." He shook his head. "In cases of rape, abortion should absolutely be an option."

"Even if she doesn't know who fathered the fetus, you or her rapist?"

"Jesus, this is what you guys talked about?"

"Clarity brings healing."

"So what did she say?"

"That she'd want to bring your child into the world, but no way in hell would she want to carry her rapist's. And the question is, how would she know? And that narrows the concept of choice."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I would insist she have an abortion, she's been traumatized enough without carrying a child of uncertain paternity." He finished his drink. "DNA isn't much use until the child's born."

"Do you think she's strong enough to go through with that? Personally, I think she's too fragile, too close to the breaking point right now."

"So why'd you bring it up?"

"I've known Claire for a long time, I know how her mind works, and she'd think of it all by herself before much longer. And if her start date came and went with no action, she'd really go into meltdown mode. She claims to be an agnostic, to be pro-choice, but she's also the product of Catholic schools, like you are." Annie's tone was gentle. "And she's really afraid of failing you in bed."

Jack blushed a little, and covered it by refilling his glass. "She has no worries there," he mumbled.

"What she meant was she's afraid she'll lose it, that rather than see you, feel you, it will be the man who violated her." Annie concentrated on sending calm understanding to Jack. She felt his resistance, and her increased efforts gave her a headache.

Jack swirled the scotch in his glass. "I won't go near her until she wants me."

"She trusts you," Annie said, the gentleness in her tone and attitude reaching Jack. "But you must be careful. It's good you want to wait for her. She's been betrayed before by someone who supposedly loved her, and it was devastating."

"Her mother?"

Annie nodded. "How much do you know about that relationship?"

"Not much."

"Then talk to her. It's not my place to tell her secrets."

Jack smiled. "How did two such different people become such good friends?"

Annie laughed. "Opposites attract, you know. And Smith was a wonderful place. Did you know Avery Bennett?"

He nodded.

"Avery personified wild child, she was born a decade or so too late. I can easily see Avery dancing naked in the mud at Woodstock." Annie's headache was getting worse. She turned off the lamp on the table next to her and asked Jack if there was anything for a headache.

"Migraine?" he asked, perceptively. He recognized the signs. When Annie nodded, he found Claire's pain medicine and offered one. She took it reluctantly, but the increasing pressure in her skull sealed the deal. Jack moved around, turning off most of the lamps, leaving the hood light in the kitchen burning. "Lie down," he suggested.

"I hate it that you're sitting in the dark in your own house. I can go lie down with Claire."

"I don't mind the dark, but if you'd be more comfortable in a bed, go ahead."

Annie was quiet, gently probing Jack's thoughts. It was one of her many skills, passed down through an unbroken line of women stretching back centuries. The farmhouse she owned in Vermont was part of her heritage, her family fled to the remote mountains of that state from Salem during the insanity known as the Witch Trials. One of the protective shields spread by the Goddess after that nightmare was the lack of belief in magic by the general population, it became a fantastical concept used in books, movies and TV shows. She sensed Jack's acceptance of her, his belief that she would help Claire, and she silently reassured him that she would. Then she sat up, struggling with the nausea that often accompanied her migraines. "I think I will lie down in bed," she said.

He nodded. "Can you find your way?"

"Yes, thank you." She moved slowly around shadowed obstacles to the open bedroom door. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, she functioned in it quite well, and she eased down on the bed beside Claire. _Sleep, have good dreams, my friend,_ she directed, claiming half of the blanket and turning on her side with her back to Claire. She quieted her inner voice, trying to pick up on Claire's overall state, probing the nudges the universe gave earlier. She felt the broken parts of her friend, the death of her innocence, the fragile trust she still had in a few people, but she did not sense life growing within her. Good, she thought, for that's one thing you don't need to deal with. The medicine kicked in and Annie, tired from her trip and pounded by the headache, surrendered to sleep.

Annie had the nightmares instead of Claire. She dreamed she found Claire, dead, in the bathroom, and in her pain and rage, unleashed the energy at her command. Windows shattered, faucets blew off and water shot into the air, the primal scream that issued from her brought others. The dream transitioned to Annie trying to live in a world without Claire, without knowing she was out there somewhere, always available. It was a world of shades of gray, and Annie moved through it like a zombie. Then she was in her altar room, casting the ancient spell from her family's Book of Shadows, calling her friend as huge pillar candles burned around her. And Claire appeared, with bloody wounds on her forehead, and Annie was confused, she'd been unmarked in the bathroom. _This is the truth you don't want to know,_ Claire's spirit said before fading away.

Annie woke and sat up, sweating. For a moment she didn't know where she was, and then she felt movement beside her. She looked down and saw Claire. _Blessed be, friend,_ she thought, and Claire opened her eyes. "I heard that," she said, groggy with sleep and a drug hangover. "What the hell did you give me yesterday?"

"Tea, that's all. It combined with your medicine, you were high as a kite." Annie looked around. "I meant to stay in a hotel."

Claire sat up, too, taking Annie's elbow in hand. "I don't want you to do that."

Annie smiled. "It's Jack's apartment, he can hardly be expected to sleep on the couch instead of his own bed."

Claire frowned, bit her bottom lip. "I haven't gone back to my apartment…"

Annie patted the hand holding her elbow. "Gotcha. I can cleanse it, bless it. Can you go to it with me?"

The thought frightened Claire, but she looked at the woman who had traveled so far to help. "If you want clean sheets," she said. "I smell coffee, Jack's up."

"I can't smell anything," Annie complained, good-naturedly, "unless it's strong."

"That's what you get for smoking." Claire got out of bed and carefully stretched. "You want the bathroom first?"

"No, go ahead. How do you think I won all those 'free beer til the first person pees' contests in college? World's most massive bladder." She got up, too, and watched as Claire quickly made the bed. She shook her head in amusement. "Girl, you never made your bed in college."

Claire stepped into her discarded jeans and buttoned them. "I didn't want to make Avery look bad," she said, and zipped. She walked out of the bedroom, and Annie heard a quiet "Morning, Jack," before she heard a squeaky hinge. Annie, still in yesterday's clothes, walked out to face the displaced man.

"Good morning," she said, finding him in the kitchen, pouring coffee. She took the mug he offered. "Thank you."

He filled another mug and set it aside, then refilled his mug. "She's actually talking," he said, as if good morning constituted a conversation.

"Yeah," Annie said. "I'm sorry I stole your bed, I meant to stay in a hotel. Claire wants me to stay in her apartment."

"She hasn't gone back there since it happened."

"So she said. But I can do some cleansing rituals, little things you probably find absurd but can bring comfort in times of stress."

He leaned against the stove and sipped his coffee. "If you wanted to dance naked on the courthouse steps, and it would comfort Claire, I'd say go for it."

The squeaky hinge signaled her approach. Jack picked up the prepared coffee and gave it to Claire when she joined them. "Thanks," she said.

"Tilt your head," he said, and when she did, he looked at the bandage for signs of seepage. "It's good," he said.

"Nurse Jack," Claire said, and a fond smile broke on her battered face. She rubbed her jaw, it was aching like hell this morning, and his sharp eyes noticed. He left them in the kitchen and came back with a dose of medicine, watching while she took it. Annie realized it was the one way he felt useful, that he was helping, in a situation where only Claire's inner resources would be of use. "Let's sit, like civilized people," she muttered.

Annie sat in the wing chair near the desk while they took the couch. Jack stacked his pillow and blanket at one end, but did not sit too close to Claire. Annie glanced at the grandfather clock, it was later than she thought, almost nine. She looked at the windows and realized it was raining, no wonder Claire's jaws ached.

"Maybe I should get settled at your place," Annie said, looking at Claire, waiting for her reaction.

She saw panic and fear, a stiffening of Claire's body, but her voice was steady as she said "I'll go with you, show you where everything is."

"Claire—"

"It's OK, Jack, I have to go back there sometime. And God knows, you need some time to yourself. I won't be gone long. We won't," she amended, looking at Annie.

Annie busied herself packing up her candles and other paraphernalia while they whispered. Jack wanted Claire to stay away from the apartment until she was stronger, and Claire told him she felt safe with Annie. He wouldn't believe it was because Claire had seen Annie hurl energy in the past, that she was powerful enough to protect Claire if protection was needed. He didn't need to believe it, Annie thought, it would only add to his guilt and sense of inadequacy.

While Claire showered, Jack sat across from Annie. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"She does have to face it sometime. I won't push it, if she's too uncomfortable, we'll leave." Hers was a quiet confidence, a certainty that the universe would arrange things properly and this was the right course of action. And she did need a place to stay while in New York.

Claire came out in jeans and an old Harvard sweatshirt, her hair still damp. Jack watched, uneasily, as they walked out of his apartment, a study in contrasts. Claire towered over Annie, was dark where Annie was fair, logical and serious whereas Annie lived in some New Age fantasy. He sighed. Whatever works, he thought.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

It was drizzling as they stepped out from the protective awning while the doorman opened the cab's back door. They slid inside, the small suitcase in Annie's lap. Claire gave the driver her address, then massaged her hands.

Annie touched those hands. "You're going to break a finger if you keep that up. If this is too much, tell me, you don't have to come."

Claire looked away, out the window, as she said, "I do. I have to face it. I'm going to have to testify, so I better start prepping for it now."

"Why is this going to trial?"

Claire shrugged. "Apparently the little shit wants to watch me squirm, humiliate me even more. He refused a very generous deal. Up here," she said to the driver, getting cash out of her wallet. She paid the driver and they got out in front of a four story building, half a mile from Jack's, on the upper west side. The building didn't have a doorman. Claire punched a code into the barred entrance door, and opened it, waiting for Annie to proceed. They took the elevator to the third floor, Claire digging for her keys as they ascended.

Small pieces of yellow crime scene tape remained on the doorframe. Claire ignored them and unlocked the door, not knowing what she'd find. Probably a disaster, investigating detectives usually went through everything, but she found the place neat. She flipped the master switch and lights cut into the gloom of a rainy day. "I'll be damned, they cleaned up after themselves."

Annie put her suitcase and purse against the antique secretary and looked around. "What did you expect, fingerprint dust and overturned drawers?"

"Kind of." She rubbed the back of her neck, fighting a mild panic at being here again. "But then, the crime took place in the bedroom, and…" she stopped talking as she took her first tentative step into her room. The broken window had been replaced, and the sills wiped clean of the gray dust CSU used. Her bed was stripped, the sheets being evidence, and the bloodstains on the mattress made her shiver._ Cold sharp steel sliding across her neck as the man smiled. Pounding, painful incessant pounding as sweat dripped down on her, until he shook as he ejaculated. Fear, paralyzing fear, revulsion, alone and helpless as he disappeared through her bedroom window and down her fire escape._ It was jumbled in her mind, a random slideshow on meth, and her eyes were transfixed by the bloodstained mattress – a larger spread near the head of the bed, a smaller dried spot where he would have forced himself into her.

Annie put her arms around Claire, trying to transfuse love and security into her trembling friend. "Let's flip that over," she said. Claire heard her and nodded, but it took a few seconds before she moved out of the security of Annie's gentle hug. Together, they turned the mattress over, and then Claire went to the linen closet. As she shook open a fitted sheet, she looked at Annie and said "Can you sleep on this bed?"

"Yes." She helped get the sheet around the corners of the mattress. The bed was made in a few minutes, and then Claire wanted out of the room. They went to the small living room. Claire stopped and turned into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator.

"Beer or Diet Coke?" she said.

"Diet Coke, please." Annie sat on the couch, running her fingers over the fine leather and saying a silent prayer of thanks to the animal for giving its life. Claire joined her and passed the can of soda. Annie popped its top, sipped the rising foam, and then looked at her friend. "A bad thing happened here, Claire, but are you going to let it define the rest of your life? Are you going to let that little prick win?"

Claire crossed her legs, resting her can on her knee. "I don't know," she said.

Annie put her drink down and got up. She opened her suitcase and took out candles, mostly white, with a green one and a red one added to the load in the crook of her arm. She placed them around the living room, and Claire realized there was an order to what she did. That completed, she got two more candles, pink ones, and took them into Claire's bedroom. Claire was fascinated with the preparation for some ritual involving herself. Annie was totally focused as she put incense burners in the living room and bedroom and put little cones in them. The last thing she took out of the apparently bottomless suitcase was a small bottle of oil, which she put in her pocket.

"Blessed be, orders the Goddess," she whispered, "peace and safety to all who enter with pure hearts. Pain and divine punishment upon evil hearts." She struck a wooden match and moved to each candle. "Love is pure, love honors our Goddess, protects those who do her will." She lit the green candle and looked up. "The darkness of the forest shall devour those who disregard her will." She lit the incense cones and whispered "Carry my prayers to the Goddess." Then she walked into the bedroom, and Claire, fascinated, followed. Annie struck a fresh match and held it to each candle in turn, whispering "Special protection be upon this room, cleanse it of evil memory, bathe it in love while assigning his doom." She lit the incense, held her hands together, and bowed her head. The candles burned brightly. "As he brought evil to the innocent, may it return three-fold unto him." She sprinkled the oil in the little bottle around the window and doorway.

Annie returned to the living room and sat on the couch again, reaching for her drink. "The candles burn down and then you'll feel better being here."

"If only it was that simple," Claire said.

Annie smiled. "C'mon, you've seen me do my thing before."

"I did like seeing the frat boy fall on his ass in a washtub of beer bottles and ice. I wonder if they ever got all the glass slivers out of his butt."

Annie shrugged. "I shouldn't have done that, it's not good when I lose my temper." She pulled her cigarettes out of her pocket and cocked her eyebrows.

"Of course," Claire said. "I don't have an ashtray, but a saucer works." She went to the kitchen and came back with a chipped white saucer. Annie lit up, drawing deeply on the cigarette, regretting the habit but unable to break it.

"You know that asshole frat boy blamed a rival for that tumble," Annie said, dryly, smiling at Claire. "And it's probably what happened, two drunks competing for my attention and grabbing body parts I prefer not to have groped." She saw sadness fill Claire's eyes and kicked herself for bringing it up. "I'm sorry, Claire."

Claire looked at her. "It's OK. It's a funny story. I have to find a way to deal with this, Annie, I don't want people tip-toeing around me, afraid of saying the wrong thing."

Annie cocked her head and studied Claire. Her face was slowly healing, the swelling was noticeably down, and her bruises had acquired a yellowish tint on the edges. "Do you know if a trial date's been set?"

"No. I'm expecting to hear from Alex Cabot any day, to come in for prep. I dread that."

"Maybe it won't happen."

"It will. Marc Meadows is determined to have his day in court, and I can expect to be humiliated."

"Aren't there restrictions on the questions asked of the victim now?"

"Yeah, but a good defense attorney can sneak them in."

"Do you know who's representing him?"

Claire shook her head. "Someone from Legal Aid. Alex eats Legal Aid attorneys for breakfast."

"Jack told me they took blood from him yesterday."

"Good. One less thing to worry about, he either has it or he doesn't." She slumped on the couch. "I've been thinking about what you said."

"Ah. I doubt you have anything to worry about there, either, it's just a way of making you define who you truly are."

"Does anyone know who they truly are?"

Annie shrugged. "I like to think I do. But then, I have been known to have an ego the size of Vermont."

Claire nudged Annie's leg with her foot. "Yeah, right. I don't think you know the meaning of the word."

Annie was pleased that Claire was relaxed in the apartment. The Book of Shadows had been specific about candles and incense choices, and she'd hastily memorized the incantation. "I thought I'd go home tomorrow," she said, testing the waters, so to speak, of Claire's need for her.

"I hoped you'd be here for the trial." Claire's disappointment carried to Annie's heart.

"Sweetie, Jack will be there. I'll come back if you really want me to, but you need to concentrate on Jack, on healing. You've both been wounded. You need to find your way back to each other."

A tear escaped, and Claire caught it with her finger, determined not to break down here. "I know," she whispered. "I'm afraid of that, of really coming back together. I'm scared I'll freak out and then he will, he won't understand."

"He understands more than you give him credit for." Annie jiggled her can and then sipped from it.

"Can he understand that it's not him? That it's the memory of Meadows sweating on me as he impaled me?" She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them.

"Yes," Annie said. "I know you've been violated, I know how that feels, but at some point you're going to have to trust him with your body."

Claire's eyes were direct. "You know?" she whispered. "When? How?"

Annie lit another cigarette and again offered the pack to Claire. Claire's long fingers nimbly extracted one. Annie lit them both with her pink Bic lighter. She leaned back, on the arm of the couch, after placing the chipped saucer on the cushion between them. "I was in high school. You know what high school's like, if you're at all different, then life can be hell. I was fortunate, in that we lived in San Francisco, where a lot of my kind congregate, so I went to school with a few magical kids. We stuck together and did our best not to play magical pranks on assholes." She drew on her cigarette. "But hey, I was a girl first, and I had a huge crush on Ronnie Church. He was the student body president, a drummer in a garage band, and the best pitcher our school had seen in years. We had a government class together, sat next to each other courtesy of the seating chart. Anyway, he asked me out in the spring, just before baseball season began." Her smile was sad.

"So." She leaned forward and flicked ash in the saucer. "We went to the movies, hit Mickey D's afterward, and then went to park overlooking the sea. You know what happened next." She shrugged. "It was terrible, and I was unable to fight back, I don't know why. When it was over, he drove me home and let me out by the curb. My grandmother was still up. She was the coolest woman on the planet, I adored her, and she returned the affection. She took one look at me and dragged me into the library. It wasn't hard to get the story out of me. I remember crying in her arms, my heart broken and my body bruised. So I know, Claire."

"He went to jail?"

Annie smiled and rubbed the side of her head, cigarette between her fingers. "He went off the Pacific Coast Highway going about sixty the next day."

"Holy shit." Claire took a last drag off her cigarette and crushed it. "I'm not going to ask."

Annie shrugged. "My Nana was not a woman you wanted to piss off, that's for sure. And she was very pissed at Ronnie Church. I was sure I'd never get over it, the rape, that my heart was truly broken. I was indifferent to his fate, though the school went into mourning. I didn't start to heal until I got to Smith. Nana insisted I go East to college, get as far away from the memories as possible. Since she was a wealthy old bag and picking up the tab, my parents didn't argue with her." That sweet smile lit her face again. "And I met you. And Avery. Oh God, dear Avery."

Claire nodded. "That hurt, too, for awhile I didn't think I'd get through it. Jack was so supportive."

"Trust him to be supportive now."

"Was Ronnie the first?"

Annie shook her head. "No, that honor belonged to Dave Dellmer, we were fooling around with spells and one thing led to another."

Claire shook her head, Annie made this magical life seem so real, and Claire admitted she'd seen some strange things with Annie. "How long was it before you had sex again?"

Annie crushed the butt in the saucer. "Remember Tim Richardson?"

"The guy from Harvard? Yeah. He was cute. So our freshman year."

"Seven months after Ronnie. Tim was sweet and sensitive, I loved him, but I knew he'd never accept what I am." She looked at Claire with such sadness. "Sometimes I think you don't accept the reality of what I am."

"Annie." Claire's eyes filled with tears she didn't try to hide. "I love you, and if you tell me you're a practicing, magical witch, then I believe you. I believe in you." She reached for Annie's hand and held it.

"It's OK, Claire, if I didn't live it, I'd probably doubt it, too. And I love you, kiddo, always. So trust me when I tell you not to wait too long to reach out to Jack. It's going to be difficult, the first time, but if there's enough love and trust between you, it will work."


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Claire got ready for bed, thinking about Annie, in her apartment, sleeping on that bed. If anyone could handle it, Annie could. And she thought about Annie's advice regarding Jack. That was more difficult. She carefully brushed her hair, trying to avoid pulling around her face. She wore an oversized tee shirt as a nightshirt, and slipped her robe over it as she walked into the living room. Jack was sprawled on the couch, watching TV.

He looked up when she came in and sat up. Claire settled next to him. "So. What do you think of Annie?" she asked.

"She's unconventional, like you said, but she has a lot of common sense mixed with that New Age stuff. I like her, and I like it that she loves you, that you're able to talk to her." He eased his arm around her narrow shoulders. "She's really going back to Vermont tomorrow?"

Claire nodded. "She'll come back for the trial."

"You know Alex will do all she can to protect you from Meadows' lawyer."

"I know. I just have to get used to telling the story over and over."

"Alex is good at prepping, trust her, she's your friend, too."

"You're coming with me tomorrow?" Alex called while Claire was out with Annie, scheduling a meeting for two the next afternoon.

"Absolutely."

Claire thought of telling him the reason Annie was leaving was because she felt Jack and Claire must find a way to reunite, and her presence would interfere with that. She promised to return anytime Claire needed her, and to be present for the trial of Marc Meadows. Claire slipped her hand into Jack's. He looked down at her, surprised, but he tightened his grip a little. Claire wondered what it would be like to be naked with him again, to feel his hands on her body. His hands would be loving, familiar, and above all gentle, so unlike the hands of Marc Meadows. The image of Meadows rose in her mind again, but before it could take over, faded. Annie, she thought, damn girl, maybe you really are a magical being. It was a comforting thought. The memory of Jack above her, supporting his weight on his elbows as his hands gripped her shoulders, replaced the ugly one, and it filled her with warmth. She had to try, to risk failure.

"Jack?"

"Hmm?" He looked at her again.

"Do you think you could love me again?"

He understood immediately. "Yes," he whispered, "if you want me to."

"I want to try. But you know what the doctor said, about…" embarrassed, she broke off her sentence.

"I know. I can be back in ten minutes."

She was touched that he hadn't presumed, hadn't purchased condoms expecting to resume their sexual relationship. He meant it when he said he'd wait for her. She nodded, and he got up. She watched him put on his shoes and jacket, push his wallet in his hip pocket, and pick up the keys, as casually as if he was going out for milk. She turned the TV off while he was gone, then hugged her knees to her chest, afraid it wouldn't work. Maybe her face would turn him off, or maybe she'd freeze up. The number of things that could go wrong intimidated her, maybe she should rethink it, and then felt that was unfair, to Jack and to herself.

She went into the bedroom and turned back the covers. She turned on the twenty-five watt lamp on the dresser, extinguishing the bedside lamps. Shadows felt more comfortable, perhaps they would hide her bruised face, his penis. She shuddered. A penis pierced her innocence, destroying it. She never truly understood that a body part could violate someone in such unspeakable ways, but she did now. She saw the lavender pillar candle Annie left for her, and she lit it. Annie said it would bring peace and harmony if she asked for it. Claire watched the flame for a moment. It felt too absurd to ask for peace, and so she turned away, going back to the couch to wait for Jack.

He was back in fifteen minutes, his cheeks reddened from the cold. He was empty-handed and she looked at him. He smiled. "Every guy on the planet knows what a small paper bag hides," he said, and he reached in coat pocket for the little bag. He discarded it in the kitchen trash, then went into the bedroom. Claire followed him, shy and uncertain. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, in his jeans and shirt, turning the small box over in his hands. He looked up at her, waiting.

She slipped out of the robe and sat next to him, taking the box without looking at it. Then she leaned against him. "Feels like the first time, doesn't it?"

He put his arm around her. "Whatever you want. If you don't want to do this-"

She put the box back in his hand and slid across the mattress to her side of the bed. "I want to try. Please promise you won't get pissed if I can't."

"I promise." He put the box on the nightstand and stretched out next to her. "I don't want to hurt you." He was on his side, his head propped up by his hand. "I'm afraid to kiss you." He very lightly touched her cheek with his fingers.

"Yeah, maybe we shouldn't do that." She touched the buttons on his shirt, one at a time, with her fingertip. Then she unbuttoned them and touched Jack's skin. He sat up and pulled the shirt off, dropping it on the floor beside the bed. "Go ahead," she whispered. He unbuttoned his jeans, eased the zipper down, and turned away from her to pull them off. Then he slipped under the covers as he moved back to her. She worked her nightshirt over her head and let it fall to the floor, and then she eased against him. She put her arms around him, feeling the familiarity of his skin, his muscles and bones. His hand moved slowly, gently cupping her breast. There was no hiding his erection, she clearly felt it against her body, and he saw the flash of fear in her eyes before she said "Slowly, OK?"

He rolled away from her and sat up. She saw him reach for the box, heard a tearing sound, and the box was back on the table. She heard another ripping noise, saw the muscles in his shoulders flex as his arms and hands moved, and then he turned to her, scooting back beside her. She pulled her panties off and waited. _Please don't hurt, please remember he loves you, he'll stop if you ask him to._ He moved between her legs, not taking his eyes off hers, and she nodded.

He slowly entered her. He felt her tense, and he waited, his weight on his elbows, his hands on her upper arms, watching her. Her hands cupped his face. He slowly moved within her, watching for any expression, listening for any sound, that meant he was hurting her. He moved a little faster, hoping for some flicker of pleasure in her eyes. She wanted to feel pleasure, but all she felt was the friction of flesh, the unfamiliar sensation of the condom. She recognized the little signals indicating he'd reached the point where he didn't want to stop, he was too close to coming, and she put her arms around his neck, pulling his head down beside hers as he came. When his tremors stopped, he slid away from her and she watched him pull the condom off. He got up and went into the bathroom. She heard the toilet flush.

"No good, huh?" he asked, settling beside her again.

"It's not your fault," she said.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No." She kissed his cheek. "We have to give it time. We knew it wouldn't be the same."

He adjusted the covers and put his arm around her, staring at the ceiling. He felt terrible, that he'd failed her because he hadn't been able to reach that part of her that surrendered joyfully to the sheer pleasure of sexuality. It was a long time before he fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Claire had brunch with Annie, and then went to Penn Station with her. She couldn't hang around or she'd be late meeting Alex, so she hugged her shorter friend and said, "Thank you for caring."

Annie smiled. "I'm always here for you. Call whenever you need me. You're a lot stronger than you think, draw on that strength, girl, it will see you through." She patted Claire's shoulder. "Go, you don't want to keep Alex Cabot waiting."

Claire laughed. "I'm not going to ask how you knew that. I'll see you soon, Annie." She turned and walked out of Penn Station. Snow flurries hit her face as she turned left and walked to the taxi line. "One Hogan Place," she told the driver, staring out the window as he pulled away from the curb into traffic.

She got to Alex's office with a couple of minutes to spare. She saw Jack, sprawled on the couch, talking to Alex, at her desk with an open file spread before her. They stopped talking when she stepped into the office, smaller than Jack's but much bigger than her little cubicle. It didn't take a Harvard education to know they'd been talking about her. Did you tell her how badly it went last night? Claire thought, then flushed at her disloyalty. Jack didn't deserve it. He stood and lightly kissed her cheek, then guided her to the couch.

"Did Annie get away on time?" he asked.

"I guess so, I left her at the line going down to the platforms." Claire wiggled out of her navy pea coat and held it in her lap.

"Coffee?" Alex offered. When Claire nodded, Alex buzzed her clerk and asked for three coffees. "Are you ready for this?" She leaned back in her chair, trying to be casual and relaxed, unintimidating. The clerk came in before Claire answered, bearing a small tray with three blue and white cardboard cups of coffee. A handful of creamers and sugar packets were spread around the tray, covering the swizzle sticks. She put the tray on Alex's desk. "Thank you, Amy," Alex said, "please close the door on your way out."

When they had their coffees, Alex focused on Claire, absently tapping her swizzle stick against the cup. "I've tried to deal him out," she began. "He's determined to go through with this, he wants to see you break on the stand." She dropped the stick and sipped the bitter brew, involuntarily making a face. "This thing is moving faster than I wanted, that Legal Aid squirt wants to make a name for himself."

"What kind of motions has he filed?" Jack asked.

"None." Alex shrugged. "That's what I mean, he wants to go in fast, hit hard, and come away with a win."

"He can't win," Jack said. "Is the man nuts?"

Alex exhaled slowly, remembering that Jack was still her superior, no matter how personally involved he was in this clusterfuck. "I think his strategy is to shatter Claire on the stand, leave an impression of doubt in at least one juror's mind about her stability, and claim a hung jury as a victory." She looked at Claire. She was healing rapidly, her face was nearly back to normal, but her eyes were the eyes of a rabbit caught in the open. "We're all trial lawyers, we know how effective a withdrawn question can be for planting doubt. We need to make your testimony as strong as possible, simple, straightforward facts. You're going to have to withstand verbal assaults you know will be quickly withdrawn in answer to my objection. If we anticipate them, I'll design ways to counter them with redirect." She looked at Jack. "You and I are known for that piece of strategy, so let's brainstorm all the possibilities and countermoves."

"Her sexual history is the most obvious," Jack said, reaching for Claire's hand. "It's not allowed, we know that, but he can probe about our relationship as going to credibility."

"Exactly," Alex said, "If she'll lie about her relationship with you, she'll lie about other things."

"I've never lied about Jack," Claire protested.

"But you've never told Adam Schiff you were violating rule 312 either, have you? So is it a lie of omission or commission?" 312 was the rule in the guidebook regarding fraternizing between superiors and subordinates, specifically forbidding sexual relationships. "You can bet that will be allowed." Alex frowned. "So how do we block it, bring it up ourselves? Or try to get sustained by claiming it refers to her sexual history?" Alex talked to Jack. Claire felt isolated and uneasy.

"What judge did you draw?" Jack asked.

"McMurtry."

Jack thought. "Ellen McMurtry is a feminist, we can count on her slapping down any hint of sexual history."

"If she doesn't?"

"Then it puts Adam in a difficult position, but he can deal with it."

Alex looked at Claire. "Let's go over what happened, one sentence at a time." She clicked the button on her ballpoint pen. She rested her hand on a fresh legal pad.

Claire shifted, put her coat aside and crossed her legs, rubbing the denim covering her knee. "I was waiting for Jack to come home, I had to go to the bathroom."

Alex scribbled, then looked up. "Do you live with Jack?"

"I do for now, you know that."

"Claire, forget I know anything." Alex's expression was kind. "Forget we're friends. The jury won't know or care about that. Just answer my questions. Do you live with Jack?"

"If I say yes, that opens the door on 312 ."

"Would you rather I asked it, or Dutton, the Legal Aid attorney?"

Claire glanced at Jack. "At the time of the incident, I was not living with Jack. I was expecting him to come for dinner."

"Were you expecting him to spend the night?"

"Yes. I don't see why that has to be a follow-up question."

Alex appealed to Jack with her eyes. He cleared his throat. "It may not be, Claire, but we have to be ready for it."

"You mean I have to be ready." They heard the bitterness in her voice. "I'm the one hanging out to dry on the stand, not you, not Alex."

"Let's move on," Alex said. "You were waiting for Jack to arrive for dinner, and you went to the bathroom. What happened next?"

Claire professionally admired Alex's spin on her testimony, but personally cringed at telling the rest. "I stepped out of the bathroom and Marc Meadows grabbed me, put a knife to my throat."

"You recognized him at that moment? Did he come at you from behind, or was he facing you?"

"From behind. He would have been on my left when I walked out."

"So someone grabbed you from behind and put a knife to your throat. When did you recognize your attacker?"

"When he threw me down on the bed. He dragged me from the bathroom doorway to the bedroom and threw me on the bed, then sat on me, the knife at my throat."

"Did he say anything?"

"He said if I made a sound, he'd cut my throat."

"Do you remember his exact words?"

"No, but it was something like make one sound, bitch, and I'll cut your throat."

Alex's hand moved across the legal pad. "You need to try to remember his exact words if you can. What happened next?"

Claire moved closer to Jack; he moved the pea coat between them to his other side and put his arm around her. "He used his knife to cut my clothes, he ripped my pants apart and then he raped me."

"Did you fight him?"

"No. I wanted to survive."

"Did he say anything while he was raping you?"

"No." She rapidly acquired that thousand yard stare as she remembered. "Unless you count grunts. It hurt like hell."

"Did you call out, scream?"

She shook her head. "I believed him, that he'd kill me if I screamed. That knife was huge."

"Go back for a second. What were you wearing?"

She thought. "Cotton pants and a tee shirt."

Alex made a notation. "OK. When he finished raping you - did he ejaculate?"

"Yes." Her hands clenched into fists, and Jack tightened his grip on her shoulder.

"OK. He ejaculated. Then what happened?"

"He pulled back, on his knees, and then started hitting me."

"Fists or open-handed?"

"Fists. He punched my face over and over."

"I know this is hard. So what happened next?"

"He pulled up his pants, and cut my throat." She couldn't stop the tears that erupted and flowed down her cheeks. "Then he went out through the window to the fire escape."

Alex wrote quickly, then looked up expectantly.

"I thought I was dying. I don't know how long it was after he left that Jack came in."

"He had a key?"

"Yes, Alex." Claire stared at her fists in her lap.

"She's trying to get around 312," Jack whispered.

"So Jack came in. What happened then?"

"He called 911. I don't remember much after that. I recall the police and EMTs, the paramedics working on my neck, and then the next thing I remember is the hospital. A doctor was doing a rape kit."

"How did you recognize Marc Meadows?"

"I'd prosecuted him for a rape eighteen months earlier. The verdict was overturned on appeal and he was released."

Alex wrote that down and drew an arrow upward. "I should have asked that much earlier, I will when we practice. We want the jury to know he's raped before. It can't be excluded as a prior bad act because you prosecuted him, it provides our motive." She doodled on the pad. "OK, back to the hospital. The rape kit was positive for fluids, for DNA. Have the results of his AIDS test come back?" Claire shook her head. "I'll call about that, you should have them by now. I'll introduce the photographs of your face, your injuries, especially that knife wound, play it as sheer luck that the blade didn't go deeper. Of course, his attorney will maintain he didn't want to kill you, but the pictures of your neck should sway the jury. We have other forensic evidence, fingerprints, hairs, a footprint on the floor beneath the window. You doing OK?"

Claire wanted to vomit, but she swallowed and said "Yeah."

"Where did you go when you were released from the hospital?"

"That's irrelevant, Alex," Jack said.

"It's one of those sneak it in by the back door, withdrawn Your Honor, questions. I don't want you to answer it, OK? Do not answer any questions if I object."

"I know the drill, Alex," Claire said.

Alex realized Claire had reached her limit. "OK, that'll do for now. I want to see you in a couple of days to practice. I'll have Casey Novak be the defense." She clicked her pen and put it on the pad, pushing both away. "I wish I could make this easier for you."

"I know." Claire held on by sheer willpower. She felt like she was going to hurl. "Gotta go." She bolted, fingers to her lips, hoping like hell the ladies' room was in the same place on this floor. It was. She slid to her knees in front of a toilet and vomited.

A few seconds later, hands pulled her hair away from her face. "I'm sorry," Alex said, "I really am."

Dry heaves wracked Claire's body, then she reached for the handle and flushed the toilet before slumping on the floor. "I know," she whispered. Alex dropped her hair and went to the sink, soaking paper towels and using them to wipe Claire's face. Claire took them and pressed them to her mouth. "This is so embarrassing," she said.

"It shouldn't be. It happens all the time," Alex said. "Sometimes I hate my job."

Claire struggled up. Alex helped her get on her feet, and then Claire went to the sinks. She splashed water on her face, rinsed her mouth, and dried her face.

Alex put her hands on Claire's shoulders. "Is it nerves, or…"

"Nerves," Claire said, too quickly, cutting off the question.

"Are you sure?" Alex dropped her hands and leaned on the counter.

"Not entirely, but my faith is in Pfizer Pharmaceuticals."

"OK," Alex said. "Jack's having a cow, you ready to go back?"

Claire smiled at the image. "Yeah. Thanks." They walked out of the bathroom to Alex's office. Jack stopped mid-pace when he saw them. "I'm fine, Jack," she said. She got her coat and pulled it on. "Let's get out of here. Talk to you later, Alex."

She walked to the door with them. "Take care of yourself. I'll see you in a couple of days."


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

The second practice session was smoother. Casey Novak, new to the sex crimes unit, played her part well as the defense attorney. She kept sneaking in references to Claire's past, which resulted in quick conferences on countering, but Claire dealt with it better this time. Opening arguments were scheduled for Monday morning. Claire was as ready as she could be; Meadows was negative for AIDS, one blessing, but the doctor insisted she be retested in six months and in the meantime insist her partner use condoms. Demoralized as she was by their one attempt, she didn't think condoms were going to be an issue.

She and Jack got home from the practice session at four. Claire changed out of her jeans and sweater into sweatpants and a thermal undershirt, with a Giants football jersey over it. Innately dignified, Claire was quiet as she moved around the apartment – changing clothes, switching out towels in the bathroom, getting a drink out of the refrigerator. Jack was on the couch, reading a file – he was going back to work on Tuesday, and Adam gave him an easy case. It was understood that he'd have to be at Meadows's trial from time to time. Claire sat beside him, offered a sip of her drink, and read over his shoulder.

Someone pounded on the door. They looked at each other, then Jack put the file in her lap and got up. He looked through the peephole. "Christ, it's your mother," he said, and he looked at Claire. Selma pounded again.

"She must know we're home," Claire said. "Let her in before the neighbors complain."

Jack opened the door and stepped back. Selma sailed into the apartment, straight for Claire. She sat in Jack's place on the couch and looked at Claire. "How are you, darling?"

"I'm fine, Mother." Claire closed the file and leaned forward to put it on the coffee table. "What brings you here, unannounced?"

Selma made a throaty disapproving noise. "You're my daughter, I should make an appointment to check on your welfare?"

Jack, displaced from the couch, moved some books from the wing chair and sat, coiled and ready to spring on Selma Gellar if she crossed the line. Claire looked at him, with a slight shrug of her left shoulder. She was helpless when it came to thwarting her mother, but she made an effort.

"Given the circumstances, yes, you should call before coming over."

"You're looking better." As always, Selma ignored Claire's feelings. "How are you feeling physically? That horrid man didn't give you a disease, did he? Or God forbid, get you pregnant?"

Claire's elbows were on her knees, and she buried her face in her palms. After a tense few moments, she looked up and Jack saw fire in her eyes for the first time. "I'm feeling better." Her hands dangled between her knees. "Your other questions are inappropriate, none of your business."

"Claire. Of course they're my business. I'm your mother."

"When it's convenient," Claire retorted. "No, Mother," and she underlined 'Mother' with a cutting sarcasm, "I do not have some terrible disease and I am not pregnant. Satisfied? You don't have to be embarrassed in front of your bridge club."

"I know it was horrible –"

"And how do you know it was horrible? You have no idea. If you want details, you'll have to attend the trial."

Selma paled. "You're going to testify about that? In open court?"

"That's how it works."

Selma looked at Jack. "Can't you stop it?"

"No. The man has the right to face his accuser." Jack kept his hands on his knees, as if that would keep them from flying across the coffee table and shaking Selma Gellar like a rag doll.

"What are you going to say?"

"Relax, Mother, I'm not going to describe the actual act." Claire withdrew inward, wrapping herself in her dignity. "You won't be able to hide the fact that your daughter was raped, but your friends won't hear the sordid details."

"Your name will be in the paper?" Selma sounded horrified.

"No. Surely Mac explained the rape shield law to you." Claire reached for her Diet Coke. "If you or any of your friends want your curiosity satisfied, you'll have to sit through the testimony."

"How good is the prosecutor?"

"She's very good, Mother." Claire drained the drink and got up, walking to the kitchen to toss the can and get a fresh one. She deliberately, rudely, did not offer a drink to her mother. She would not encourage Selma to prolong this visit. Insolently flopping on the couch, she looked at her mother. "Do you have any more prying questions I can refuse to answer, or are you satisfied?"

"Why do you hate me so much?" Selma actually sounded hurt.

Claire rolled her eyes. "I am so not going to answer that, except to say I don't hate you. I just don't like you very much, and if you don't know why, then you're more of an ostrich than I thought."

Jack had enough of this. He stood. "I really think you should go, Mrs. Gellar. Claire's tired, and she needs to rest."

Selma looked up at him, then stood, gathering her lesser dignity. "Now you protect her," she said. "Where were you when that horrible man forced himself on her?"

"That's enough, Mother." Claire stood. "Blame Jack again and that's it."

"You're overwrought," Selma said. "I'll come back another time. Get your rest." She walked, unescorted, to the door and out of the apartment.

"God," Claire said, "it never ends." She sank back into the couch cushions. Jack sat beside her. "I can't believe she wants the details, she's the woman who could barely bring herself to explain the mechanics of sex in the first place."

"Maybe she doesn't know any other way to tell you she cares," Jack offered, knowing as he said it that it was lame.

"She cares about what her friends think." Claire nearly drained her Diet Coke. "I'm going to lie down."

"You OK?" He stood with her.

"After that? As OK as I can be." She left him, walking into their bedroom and stretching out on her back on the bed, locking her hands behind her head. She thought about Annie, trying to conjure her friend's face and gentle voice. That gentleness had always disarmed Selma, it was hard to be condescending to such a gentle soul, and Annie scared her, too. She replayed her recent conversations with her friend, realizing today was the day she should start. The day's not over, she thought, don't go there.

Jack came in and sat on the bed. "Need anything?"

"No, thanks," she said. "I'm tired, that's all. Facing Casey Novak would drain Godzilla."

Jack smiled. "Rest, then. I'll order dinner."

"Thanks."

He got up and her body rode the slight movement of the mattress. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Monday came all too quickly. Claire knew the witness order: the SVU detectives, the attending physician at Hudson, Jack, and then herself. She knew she didn't have to be at the courthouse until mid-afternoon. She wished she could hear opening arguments, but since she was banned from the courtroom until she testified, she settled for sitting outside, in the hall. Jack sat with her, on a hard bench. At least she knew she wasn't pregnant, she thought, Annie and her universe's tests didn't materialize.

Yes, they did, she realized. She'd spent hours trying to decide what to do if the unthinkable happened, locked inside her mind to wrestle with moral choices. In the end, she'd decided that abortion was her only option. She and Jack could conceive a child later, when the timing was better, when there wouldn't be a single doubt. She reconciled that decision with her view on capital punishment, and convinced herself they were not contradictory. She wondered why Olivia Benson seemed to be everywhere she turned, then she repressed the message her subconscious might be trying to telegraph.

Benson appeared then, with Elliot Stabler, and Claire looked at her watch. Closing arguments should be ending any minute, and the short list of witnesses would be summoned, one at a time. She saw a middle-aged woman in a business suit approach the detectives, and recognized her as the doctor who'd taken care of her in the ER. The courtroom door opened about fifteen minutes later and the bailiff called Elliot Stabler. He followed the uniformed court officer inside, and Claire watched the door close.

Elliot was gone half an hour, then Olivia was called. Elliot stopped in front of Claire. "Hang tough," he said.

Claire nodded. Olivia was in court longer than Elliot, and Claire wondered why. Then she came out and Jack was summoned. As Jack disappeared into the jaws of the legal system, Olivia sat next to Claire. Claire looked at her.

"It went well," Olivia said. "Alex concentrated on your injuries and your reactions. The defense didn't ask anything."

"Thanks," Claire said. "I feel for Jack, this is hard on him."

"He'll be fine. How are you? Are you ready?"

"As ready as I can be."

"Trust Alex." Olivia looked at her watch. "I have to get back to work. Take care, Claire." She got up and Claire watched her walk away before returning her focus on the courtroom door. Her stomach began flip-flopping. Jack was in there a long time, and then the door opened and the bailiff looked at her. "Ms. Kincaid," he said.

She got up. She'd dressed in a black pantsuit, with a white shell blouse, adding her string of pearls for luck. She followed the bailiff up the aisle, saw Jack seated in the gallery behind the prosecution's table, and made her way to the stand. She was sworn in, and in the few seconds before Alex approached, she looked at Marc Meadows.

He grinned at her. Her stomach rebelled, and she quickly looked away, concentrating on Alex as she approached the witness box. Alex led her through her story, reminding the jury of the photographs they'd seen of her neck and face when Claire described the brutal beating and slashing of her neck. Her voice was clear and calm, hiding the gymnastics in her stomach. And then it was over, Alex had led the jury through a grim description of rape and attempted murder, through the victim's eyes.

The defense attorney stood, buttoning his suit coat. "Ms. Kincaid," he said, pleasantly. "That's a terrible tale you narrate. The physical and emotional trauma must have been dreadful. Did you seek counseling?"

"No," Claire answered, glancing at Alex as if to ask 'what the hell?'

"But you were traumatized, emotionally."

"Yes."

"But not badly enough to seek professional counseling?"

Claire shrugged. "I had support from friends who loved me."

"Were any of them trained counselors?"

"No."

"How are you now, emotionally?"

Claire looked at him. "I'm trying to heal, to put it behind me and get back to work."

"I see. With all this emotional trauma, the shock of being so brutally assaulted, is it possible you mistook your assailant for my client? That Marc Meadows was fresh in your mind because you'd just been notified he'd been released from Rikers pending a retrial?"

"No. No mistake, it was Marc Meadows in my apartment that night. He raped and beat me and cut my throat, leaving me to die slowly on my bed."

"But you weren't going to die, Ms. Kincaid. We've heard testimony that the wound itself was shallow, too shallow to do more than bleed heavily, and you were expecting Mr. McCoy at any minute, were you not?"

"Yes."

"You and Mr. McCoy are close, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You work together, spend many hours a day working on prosecuting cases, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a social relationship with him? You were expecting him for dinner."

Claire glanced at Alex. "Yes."

"Would you describe that relationship for us, Ms. Kincaid?"

"Objection, Your Honor, relevancy." Alex was on her feet.

Defense counsel looked at the judge. "I'm establishing a continuous pattern in Ms. Kincaid's behavior, a matter of her character, goes to her credibility."

Ellen McMurtry thought, then sighed. "I'll allow it, but be careful where you step, Mr. Dutton."

"Ms. Kincaid?" Mr. Dutton inclined his head. "Describe your relationship with Mr. McCoy, please."

She took a deep breath. "We go out for dinner or drinks occasionally, or we eat at each other's apartment. Sometime we go to the movies. Or rent one."

"Have you ever slept together?"

"Objection!"

The judge looked at Mr. Dutton and Ms. Cabot. "Approach, counselors." When the two attorneys stood before her, she covered her microphone with her hand. "Mr. Dutton, you are forbidden by law to introduce a victim's sexual history."

"I'm trying to show that Ms. Kincaid is not always truthful, to be kind about it," he said. "If she'll lie about one thing – violating rule 312 concerning fraternizing in the district attorney's office, perhaps she'll lie about who raped her."

"That's absurd, Your Honor," Alex said. "Ms. Kincaid saw her rapist very clearly, knew who he was, has no reason to lie about his identity."

"If it gets him convicted and saves her a retrial on his original charges, I'd say she does."

Alex sneered. "Then counsel is forgetting the forensic evidence against his client."

"The objection is sustained. Be very careful, Mr. Dutton."

Alex returned to the prosecution table and Mr. Dutton stood before Claire again. "Do you currently live with Mr. McCoy, Ms. Kincaid?"

"Your Honor," Alex called.

"It's a legitimate question, Your Honor, and it returns to that pesky question of credibility."

Glaring at Mr. Dutton, Judge McMurtry nonetheless said "Overruled."

"Ms. Kincaid?"

"Yes, I do."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't the district attorney's office prohibit fraternizing between superiors and their subordinates? Isn't that policy known as the 312 rule?"

"Yes," Claire said, "but given the circumstances I felt safer staying there. I still have my apartment."

"Have you returned to it?"

"Once."

"Spend the night?"

"No. Too many memories."

"Have you and Mr. McCoy remained close throughout this ordeal?"

Claire glanced at the judge, who stared at the defense attorney, but his question was answerable. "Yes. I can talk to him, I feel like he'll protect me. I feel safe with him." Her eyes found Jack in the gallery.

"So nothing's changed in your relationship?"

"No," she answered, truthfully, they had indeed had sex once since she was raped.

"I'm glad to hear that, every victim needs her knight in shining armor. Ms. Kincaid, wouldn't it make your work life easier if you didn't have to retry Mr. Meadows on the original charges?"

"No," she said, before realizing Alex was standing.

"He always proclaimed his innocence, it seems a new witness has come forward to support that claim."

"Objection," Alex bellowed, "assumes facts not in evidence."

"Sustained."

Dutton shrugged. "Accusing him of rape, that saves the state the expense of a retrial, does it not?"

"I don't see how, since they're paying for this trial."

Dutton smiled. "Indeed they are. But is it possible, just possible, Ms. Kincaid, that you invited Marc Meadows over, knowing Mr. McCoy had gone to Sing-Sing and wouldn't be back for some time, and seduced him, then gloated about it, which caused him to lose his temper? And that he broke your bedroom window escaping when he heard Mr. McCoy unlock your front door? Mr. McCoy does have a key to your apartment, does he not?"

"Yes, he does, and no, it is not possible that I'd willingly have sex with that creep."

"Your Honor, I object to Ms. Kincaid's terminology regarding my client."

"Keep it in bounds, Ms. Kincaid," McMurtry said, gently.

"I would not willingly have sexual intercourse with your client," Claire said.

"Thank you, Ms. Kincaid, I have no further questions."

Claire looked at Alex, then Jack. "You're dismissed, Ms. Kincaid," the judge said. Claire nodded and left the box, then slid into a seat next to Jack.

"The prosecution rests," Alex Cabot said.

"Mr. Dutton?" Judge McMurtry looked at him. He held up his hand as he whispered to his client, then said, "The defense calls Marc Meadows."

The little man wore an ill-fitting new suit, with a white shirt with a red and black tie. He sat in the witness chair and swore the oath. Then his attorney walked up and smiled. "So what did happen, Marc, on that night a few weeks ago?"

Meadows cleared his throat. "I knew Ms. Kincaid would prosecute me again, and I wanted to talk to her, explain about the new witness. I knocked on her door but she didn't answer. So I went back to the street, and I looked up, there was light in her window. I'd been drinking, so call me stupid, because I was, but I decided to climb up and make her listen to me."

"You were armed?"

"I had a K-bar, from my tour in the Marines. After what I went through in prison, I wasn't going to go around defenseless. I tried her window, it was locked, and I broke the glass with my knife handle and unlocked it. When I was actually inside, I got scared, I knew what it looked like. I thought I really had to talk to her, explain everything. I heard the crapper flush, so I waited outside the bathroom door. I got more and more scared, so I grabbed her when she came out. I seen she was scared, so I pulled her into her room and sat her on the bed. I talked to her, told her I didn't rape that woman, and she was yelling at me to get out. She called me a rapist pig, and I got really mad. I was really drunk, and so I thought I'd show her what a rapist pig really was. And when it was over, she spat at me, and I just went off on her. I didn't try to kill her, though, I made sure the cut wasn't but a scratch."

"You admit raping and beating her."

"I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't shitfaced."

"When you were arrested later that night, did the detectives do a blood alcohol test on you?" Leon Dutton asked, quickly, before an objection about his client's language was lodged.

"No, they was too busy entertaining themselves hitting me. You got the pictures, show them."

Dutton walked to his table and said "Your Honor, defense exhibit one." He opened an envelope and slipped a few eight by ten color photos out. He showed them to the witness first, and as he said "I took these of you, correct, shortly after your arrest?" he passed them to the jury. Marc Meadows had clearly taken a pounding.

"Yeah."

"Did you tell them you were drunk?" He collected the photographs from the jury, noting the discomfort on a few faces.

"They found me in a bar. I tried to talk to them, but they wasn't listening. Guess they was getting their payback for one of their own."

"If you'd been sober –"

"Your Honor, sidebar," Alex said. The judge nodded, and the attorney approached. "Your Honor, he's going for an affirmative defense. You know that requires notice."

"Your Honor, I'm trying to establish that my client was acting out of character."

"Baloney," the judge said. "You're trying to backdoor an AD."

"Judge, I'm fighting for my client's life, literally. I know the people can't seek the death penalty, but if he goes to prison for this, you know perfectly well the CO's will eventually find reasons to beat him to death."

"A little dramatic today, Mr. Dutton?" The judge looked from one attorney to the other, then glanced at the little man in the witness box. "Let him argue it, Ms. Cabot, he doesn't have the required proof for an affirmative defense. You can demolish his arguments during cross. Retreat." She sat up straight and waited for the attorneys to resume their positions.

"Marc, is it fair to say that if you'd been sober, you wouldn't have thought of trying to talk to Ms. Kincaid, that this tragic chain of events triggered by that impulse, would not have happened?"

"Yeah. I know it was stupid, that I had no business talking to a DA at home, but it was so important to me to tell her I had a witness who would prove I didn't rape that other woman. But she wouldn't listen." His eyes found Claire, sitting next to Jack, with a glimmer of satisfaction. "She acted like I was something you scrape off your shoe. All she had to do was listen."

"But she didn't. Do you think that excuses what you subsequently did?"

"No, but it don't mean I should spend the rest of my life in the can." He leaned toward the microphone as he looked at the jury. "I'm really sorry for what I did, I know I can't take it back, and I should be punished, but I didn't try to kill her."

"We know, Marc, the medical evidence proves that. No more questions." Dutton touched the witness stand's rail, then turned and walked back to his table.

Alex waited until Dutton was seated, then she stared at Meadows for a moment before rising. She walked toward the witness stand. "Mr. Meadows. Do you truly expect these good people," and she inclined her head toward the jury box, "to believe you brutalized Claire Kincaid because you were drunk? That it somehow excuses your offense?"

"It don't excuse it, but I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been drunk on my ass."

Alex glanced at the judge, who didn't correct Meadows's language. "If you were so drunk, why isn't there some mention of your condition in the police reports? In the medical summary provided by the emergency room physician your own attorney took you to?"

"You'd have to ask him."

"The truth is you wanted to humiliate and brutalize Ms. Kincaid, isn't that correct? She was going to send you back to Rikers for twenty years, and you wanted to make her pay for that, didn't you? And raping her wasn't enough, you had to beat her, you wanted to silence her forever, so you cut her throat. Isn't that the truth, Mr. Meadows?"

"No."

"If letting her know about your exculpatory witness was so important, why didn't you wait for your lawyer to meet with her?"

"I was drunk. I thought I could make her see reason."

"At knifepoint? After breaking into her apartment?"

"I wanted to be sure she'd listen to me. I had no intention of killing her, I had no intention of hurting her at all. She just made me so mad…"

"And when you're mad, you become violent, isn't that true? Isn't that why you were dismissed from the Marine Corps? Isn't it true you resisted arrest, that even in handcuffs you tried to headbutt the arresting officer?"

"No. He slammed my head on the floor, on the car, like he wanted my skull cracked."

"The simple truth of the matter is that you wanted to make Ms. Kincaid pay for past and future 'offenses' against you, and what better way to do that than to rape her, as she charged you did to another woman. And isn't true that, after raping and beating her, you realized she would immediately identify you to the authorities, so you decided to kill her? It's just luck that your blade was so dull that it didn't penetrate deeply enough to kill her." Alex cleared her throat. "And isn't true that you told me you wanted to go to trial to further humiliate her? I offered you a generous deal, and you turned it down, telling me you wanted to see 'the bitch squirm,' isn't that true?"

"Objection, Your Honor, she's testifying!"

"Sustained."

"I'll rephrase," Alex said. "Did I offer you a plea bargain, Mr. Meadows?"

"Yeah."

"And did you reject it?"

"Yeah."

"Would you tell us why?"

"Cause I wanted to explain my side."

"You've certainly done that. I have no more questions." Alex turned away from the man in the box, meeting Claire's eyes as she walked back to her table.

"Mr. Dutton?" the judge said as Marc Meadows returned to his chair beside his attorney.

"The defense rests, Your Honor."

"Closing arguments in the morning. We're in recess until ten a.m." She rapped her gavel and got up.

Alex turned around, facing Claire. "He's going down."

"I know." Claire held Jack's hand.

"You don't have to be here tomorrow."

She nodded. "I may skip it. Looking at him makes me ill."

Alex gathered her papers. "Go home, relax, and leave it to me. I'll call you when we have a verdict, which I predict will be within fifteen minutes of the commencement of deliberations."

Claire stood, still holding Jack's hand. "We'll see. Thank you." She looked up at Jack. "Let's get out of here."


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Home, Claire changed clothes. Jack was getting out of his suit, too, and she accidentally bumped him, as they stood in front of the closet. "Sorry," she mumbled.

He took her shoulders and turned her. Looking down at her, he said "This will be over in the morning."

She put her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his bare chest. "I wish Annie had been able to come. Damned snowstorm."

Jack remembered Annie's apologetic call. Annie lived what was called the primitive life; she lived in a village in the Vermont mountains that still had dirt roads, she used a woodstove, made her own bread. She'd explained to Claire that a clipper system dumped eighteen inches of snow and she couldn't get out. Claire was disappointed, but understood. Annie promised to send good thoughts, which Claire could accept without bending to the incredulous. Jack dismissed Annie's claims of magic as wishful thinking. Claire thought they ran deeper but could not bring herself to actually believe in magic, but accepted Wicca as a valid religious point of view.

"I'm sorry, too," Jack said, "I know she brings you some kind of comfort that I can't."

Claire ran her fingers across his back. "Don't think of it that way. It's because we're old friends, she saw me change from shy girl to adult woman. She has an intuitive understanding, aside from being a woman herself and knowing exactly what this has been like."

He tried to concentrate on her words, but her fingers were sending signals to Mr. Winkie. He stepped away from her, turned back to the closet.

"Jack."

He stopped. She put her arms around his waist, her fingers caressing his abs this time. She pressed against his back. He knew her signals. He turned around, cupped her face, and kissed her. She kissed him back, then, walking backward, led him to the bed. "You sure?" he whispered. He remembered painfully well the one time they'd tried this.

"I'm sure." She was. She desperately wanted to return to the life she'd known, to embrace her sexuality again, to connect with Jack. It has to work, she thought, I need him so much.

--xx—

Jack went to work the next morning. Claire waited for a call from Alex, putting an official end to this nightmare. She tidied the already clean apartment, and then, restless and knowing it could be several hours before she heard from Alex, decided to call Annie.

"Hey," she said, when Annie answered her cell phone. "I'm waiting. Closing arguments start at ten, then it goes to the jury."

"Relax, girlfriend. How bad was it?"

"Pretty bad. Sitting in that chair, watching him smirk at me as I repeated the details, I thought I was going to hurl."

"But you didn't. I told you, you're stronger than you think. How's it going with Jack?"

"Good. I was actually able to do it with him last night."

Annie chuckled. "So all those perverted thoughts I sent your way scored." Claire heard Annie's smoking sounds, smiled at her friend's little digs. "We're still snowed in, it probably won't melt until spring. I'm the only one in the village without a horse, so I get checked on a lot. If I could get out, I'd be there."

"I know," Claire said.

"In many ways, winter is my least favorite season."

Claire smiled again, remembering the seasons of their youth with a quiet sense of loss. "I've changed my mind on that," she said, "I think my favorite is now the season of the witch." She wished she could reach through the line and hug her friend. "You helped me get through this."

Annie laughed. "God, Jack must have you listening to Donovan. I love you, too, you mutant giantess."

"Do I have to wait for spring to see you again?"

"Probably, unless there really is a season of the witch. In that case, I'll see you very soon. Now, hang up, because you're about to get a call from your friend. I'll talk to you very soon, I promise."

"OK." Claire hung up. Annie and her little premonitions, lucky guesses were more like it, but Claire felt warmed anyway. Leaning into the refrigerator for a drink, she heard the phone ring. She bumped her head on the freezer door backing out, rubbed it, and grabbed the wall phone. It was indeed Alex Cabot.

"He took a plea ten minutes ago, twenty to life for attempted murder and first degree rape. It's over, Claire."

"Thank you, Alex. Let's get together for a drink soon." Claire hung up after a few more pleasantries, then took her drink to the couch. It was over, legally anyway, and she could concentrate on taking her life back. She sipped and thought of Annie, who dropped everything in response to a stranger's call telling her Claire needed her. And Claire knew that whenever she looked back on this period of her life, she would always think of it as the season of the witch indeed.

END


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